Stay Of Execution
by SquirrelWho
Summary: Trapped in a parallel universe, Sherlock finds himself drawn into a world of impossible truths, but he's not alone. Rose Tyler reminds him of his two closest friends and for the first time in his life he sees the woman behind the deductions. When fate gives him the chance to return to his old life will he choose the past he holds dear or a future he never expected?
1. Dead Man

**WARNING!...**

**Major Spoilers for Sherlock Season 3. If you haven't watched them, all 3 of them, don't read this, unless you don't mind spoilers or you don't plan on watching it. Seriously!**

Now then, Sherlock's personality/behavior is a bit different to reflect the changes in Series 3, at least if I pulled it off well. :)

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The moment Sherlock pulled the trigger Mycroft knew his little brother was a dead man. He kept the team from shooting Sherlock on sight, but he was only delaying the inevitable. Magnussen was a criminal, but one the people Mycroft worked with felt was a necessary evil and they wouldn't be pleased.

It was true the elder Holmes had a controlling interest in the British government, but everyone answered to someone and for him it was them. The collective board. Yes, he could make decisions on his own, but if he let his brother walk he'd lose his position with them and that couldn't happen.

Sherlock did have his place and the board knew that. Mycroft had used him as an instrument on a number of occasions to protect their interests, without his brother's knowledge of course. After reminding them of Sherlock's importance he was able to come up with an alternative. It was hardly merciful, as Lady Smallwood put it, but they had to believe that his choice didn't stem from kindness, but necessity. If they thought he was showing the slightest bit of compassion for his brother he'd lose them and Sherlock as well.

He entered his office and walked to the back wall, lifting the picture to reveal a small screen. Mycroft pressed his thumb to the screen. A moment later a section of the wall slid open. He replaced the picture and stepped through the newly revealed entryway. The lights in the ceiling flickered to life revealing a small room. The only furnishings being an overstuffed leather chair and side table. He crossed the room and picked up the remote from the table. Then pushed a button and a monitor built into the far wall was revealed. Another button and he waited for the other end of the line to be picked up. He didn't have long to wait before the image of a man with short red hair appeared.

"Hello, Pete," Mycroft greeted.

Pete's eyes widened at Mr. Holmes' use of his first name. Something the man hadn't done in the five years they'd known each other. He never fully trusted Mycroft, but their relationship was necessary. It began back when his daughter, Rose, was trying to find a way back to the Doctor.

It was an experiment using the rift to create a bridge between universes. After two failed attempts it was abandoned, but something happened after the reality bomb. After the Doctor closed the gap in their universe, sealing them off, so he thought, that was when the bridge started working. Only, it didn't lead back to the Doctor's universe, but a different one.

"I thought our next meeting was scheduled for Friday, Mr. Holmes," Pete said, referring to the day he was scheduled to send a family of war refugees across the bridge.

They had been scheduling exchanges for years. Pete gave Mycroft information that led to advancements in different fields, including medical, technology, and weaponry to name a few. In exchange Pete was allowed to send refugees fleeing retribution equipped with perception filters across the bridge. Mycroft provided new identities, jobs, and housing.

"There's been a situation," Mycroft replied.

He needed Mr. Tyler's help, but he'd never been good at asking for that sort of thing and although they'd known each other for years their relationship was built on business. Mr. Tyler was a business man and Mycroft knew he'd want something in exchange.

"A situation?" the man asked. "One of the refugees?"

"No, nothing like that. It's…um…" He glanced at the floor and then back to the screen. "It's my younger brother. He's gotten himself into a rather bad situation."

"Your brother?" Pete asked.

Mycroft had never once mentioned his family and, to be honest, Pete never pictured the arrogant, pompous bloke having one.

"Younger brother. He's gotten himself into situations before always over some sentimental drivel, but I'm afraid he's in quite deep this time."

Sentimental drivel? His first thought was of Rose and how she always wound up in the middle of trouble because she cared. Was that what Mycroft's brother had done? He had a hard time picturing that. Mr. Holmes being the most unsentimental man he'd ever met.

"What's he done?"

"He killed a man," Mycroft said and then continued after taking in Mr. Tyler's reaction. "My brother is a genius, but he fancies himself a detective. He took a case, blackmail it was. The blackmailer tried to use my brother's friends." Mycroft couldn't keep the distain from his voice at the word _friends. _"Putting the wife of my brother's closest friend in danger. The only way to save her was to end the life of the blackmailer and my darling brother, sentimental fool that he is took it."

"It sounds like he should be receiving an award not being punished."

"Yes, well, there's no actual proof of what transpired and the blackmailer wasn't a commoner. He had friends in very high places and those friends were calling for my brother's execution."

"So, you want to send him here?" Pete asked, watching Mycroft closely.

If there's one thing Pete could understand it was the need to protect one's family. Whether Mr. Holmes would admit it or not Pete could tell that the man cared about his brother.

"I am, of course, willing to negotiate our initial agreement. I'm sure you'll want compensation-" Mycroft began.

"I'm not worried about compensation," Pete interrupted.

Mr. Holmes stared at him, giving him the same look Pete received all those years ago when he explained he was on a parallel world. Mr. Tyler smiled.

"You're not?"

Mycroft stared at the man on the monitor, trying to work out what his game was. Why wouldn't he care about compensation? Mycroft was asking him for a favor and in business, as the saying goes, one person scratches the other person's back.

"We've known each other six years now, Mycroft, but we're not friends."

"No, we're not."

"Honestly, I don't even know if you have any friends. My guess is you're desperate or you wouldn't have come to me. I might be a business man, but I'm also a father with a headstrong daughter who probably cares more than she should and has gotten herself into situations of her own. So, what I'm saying is yes."

Pete watched stunned disbelief take hold of Mycroft's features for a moment before the callous mask was pulled back into place.

"Yes. Right. Then I'll have him at the bridge tomorrow evening, say twenty-one hundred hours?" Mr. Holmes asked.

"I'll be waiting," Pete replied.

Mycroft pushed the button on the remote to end the transmission. He expected an argument, squabbling over negotiations, what he didn't expect was for Mr. Tyler to, not only agree, but do so without compensation. In the same position Mycroft knew what he would've done. He would've seen his associate's weakness and used it.

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Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	2. Sherlock Holmes

Rose flopped down on the sofa. It was nearly midnight, but she couldn't sleep. She felt restless, probably because she'd been bored out of her mind for nearly a week. Usually there was something to occupy her time. An invasion, aliens hiding on Earth, tech gathering, or some other kind of mission, but everything had been quiet all week. That was good, at least, that's what she told herself. It meant everyone was safe, but it was boring as hell. There were old cases littering her living room, but she was hoping for something with a bit more action, though if it came down to it she would go over the cases.

Her mobile rang and she nearly fell off the sofa as she scrambled for it. She glanced at the caller ID. Pete. Her first instinct was that something was wrong with either her mum or Tony. She hit the talk button, lifting it to her ear.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I need you down here," he replied in his Director of Torchwood voice.

There was something going on and whatever that was had to do with Torchwood. She smiled.

"I'm on my way. Just have to change."

"Civilian clothes," Pete said and then hung up before she could question him.

He reread the information Mycroft sent ahead. He knew it wasn't everything the man had on his brother, but the name alone had been enough. Sherlock Holmes. He thought it was a coincidence, that or the man's parents had been a bit…odd, but some of the cases Sherlock solved were too similar to the stories. The details were different, but that could account for the time span, since the stories place well over a hundred years ago and this Sherlock Holmes existed in the here and now.

How the man could exist at all Pete couldn't say. Maybe Rose would have a theory. Either way when Mycroft said his brother was a genius Pete thought he was being pompous again, but now he knew the truth. There was only one person Mr. Tyler knew of who could handle an eccentric genius and that was his daughter.

Creating a background for the man was going to take some creative thinking, which was why he wanted Rose there tonight. Plus he knew she'd be up. She didn't sleep well during the dry periods when nothing was going wrong. She dealt much better with chaos.

Twenty minutes later Rose walked into his office dressed in a blue jumper, jeans, and her trainers.

"Have a look at this," Pete said, indicating the monitor.

She walked around the desk and read over the file.

"This is a joke, yeah?" she asked, glancing at her dad.

He had to be joking. Sherlock Holmes? Her dad had been known to pull some pranks, but bringing her down there in the middle of the night with the hope of some situation was just mean.

"No, joke, luv. It's him."

"No, but…" she glanced at the name on the file. "…it can't be. He's a character in a story."

"I was hoping you'd have some theory."

"Car accident?"

"Sorry?"

"I was in a car accident and right now I'm in hospital and this is a dream or a coma. Do you have dreams when you're in a coma?" she asked, grinning.

He returned her smile.

"Funny. So?"

She read through a bit of the file.

"It's really him," she replied, crouching down so she was in a more comfortable position. "Some of the details are different, but it's him."

"And you're theory?"

"No idea."

"Come on, Rose. You did all that traveling with the Doctor. You must have some idea."

"This came from the other side of The Bridge, yeah? The bloke you've been working with?"

Rose and Jake were the only two people at Torchwood who knew about Mycroft and the bridge. They never spoke to the man, but they knew Pete dealt with him.

"Mycroft Holmes."

Rose slapped her forehead.

"Of course, why didn't I realize before."

"Sorry?"

"Mycroft is Sherlock's brother in the stories too."

"So, how can they be real?"

"The Doctor said there are loads of parallels. Maybe theirs is really distant."

"Would that make a difference?"

"I don't know." She shrugged, grinning. "It sounded good." She stood up. "Doesn't really matter how it's possible because obviously it is. So, why do you have this anyway?"

"I need you to help me create a background for him."

"Why?"

"Because he'll be crossing The Bridge tomorrow night."

"Sherlock Holmes is coming here?" she asked, unable to hide the excitement she felt.

"Seems he got himself into a bind helping out a friend, not that I have any experience with family doing that sort of thing." He eyed her and she gave him a sheepish grin. "Normally I'd change his name, but I doubt he's going to be up for that, especially if he's anything like his brother. He'll need looking after while he adjusts and there's only one person I know of with experience handling moody geniuses."

"All mum does is try setting me up on dates with blokes and you want me to share a flat with one?" she asked, smiling.

"You know that's not what I mean, Rose," he replied, eyeing her, but her remark seemed to be changing his mind about the whole idea.

She had to put a stop to that or he'd probably keep her as far from Sherlock as he could and a real life fictional character was the most interesting thing she'd been offered since she helped stop the reality bomb.

"Dad, you know I'm not interested in anyone right now and I've watched enough telly adaptations to know that Sherlock isn't the sort to be interested in _that _sort of thing. And you're right, I've got experience handling moody geniuses."

He still seemed skeptical, but he finally nodded. She beamed, throwing her arms around his neck and in the next moment he was smiling. She knew her mum would slap him when she found out, but Rose decided not to add that little detail.

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Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	3. Goodbyes

Sherlock stood next to Mycroft watching the car's steady progress as it drove toward them with John and Mary inside. His mind was still grappling with the secret his brother revealed. Something he never would have guessed and he still wouldn't know if it hadn't become the only way to save Sherlock.

He would never see John and Mary again and he couldn't even tell them, but that was a small price to pay to keep his vow. John would be all right. He'd have his family and his friend deserved that after everything he'd been through and everything he'd done.

The car stopped and Mary got out, followed by John. She reached Sherlock first.

"You will look after him for me, won't you?" the detective asked.

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'll keep him in trouble."

He smiled, returning her hug. When she pulled back he caught her gaze. There were tears in her eyes, but she held them back. She was strong and John would need that in the days to come.

"That's my girl," he replied.

She stepped back, joining John. Sherlock glanced at his best friend. This was it. Their final goodbye and it deserved privacy, John deserved that. He turned to Mycroft.

"Since this is likely to be the last conversation I'll have with John Watson would you mind if we took a moment?" he asked.

Mycroft nodded to the muscle. The man stationed on Sherlock's right to keep him from running. As if that would stop Mycroft from finding him. Then he walked to the plane behind them with Mary.

Sherlock faced John. His best friend. The man who saved him so many times. John drew closer.

"So, here we are," his friend said and then cleared his throat.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes," the detective replied, not wanting an awkward silence to stretch between them.

"Sorry?" John asked, confused.

"That's the whole of it. If you're…looking for baby names."

John laughed, but Sherlock couldn't bring himself to join in. There were too many things to say, but none of them seemed enough. Not for everything John had done for him.

"No, we've had a scan," his friend said. "We're pretty sure it's a girl."

"Oh," he whispered, a sad smile creeping out for a moment before he looked away. "Okay."

He swallowed back the tears that threatened to come as John gazed around the runway.

"Yeah. I…" John turned back, facing him. "I can't think of a single thing to say."

"No," Sherlock whispered, glancing at the ground. "Neither can I."

Wasn't that the way? There was no perfect goodbye. No words that could make the situation acceptable. He took a breath, glancing around, but in the next moment his friend caught his gaze.

"The game is over," John said.

"The game is never over, John, but there may be some new players now. That's okay." He sighed, looking back at the runway behind his friend. "The east wind takes us all in the end."

"What's that?"

He gave his friend a sad smile.

"It's a story my brother told me when we were kids. The east wind, this terrifying force that lays waste to all in its path. Seeks out the unworthy and plucks them from the Earth. That was generally me."

John nodded.

"Nice."

Sherlock glanced back at the plane.

"He's a rubbish big brother."

He glanced at John and noted the smile on his friend's face. He smiled in return.

"So, what about you then?" John asked, glancing at the ground and then looked up. "Where are you actually going now?"

Sherlock couldn't tell his friend the truth. He wanted to, but even if John believed him he knew he'd be putting his friend in danger by telling him. So, he told John what the board had initially decided. The death sentence they had planned.

"Oh, some undercover work in Eastern Europe," Sherlock lied.

John seemed to buy the lie.

"For how long?"

"Six months, my brother estimates. He's never wrong."

"And then what?"

He caught John's gaze and then glanced away, knowing he couldn't look his friend in the eye and lie to him. The tears threatened to come again and he blinked, looking up.

"Who knows." John nodded and looked away. Sherlock could tell that his friend had read between the lines. "John, there's something I should say. I've met to say always and I never have. Since it's unlikely that we'll ever meet again I might as well say it now." He took a breath and caught John's gaze. "Sherlock is actually a girl's name."

John laughed, making him smile.

"It's not," his friend said.

He shrugged.

"It was worth a try."

"We're not naming our daughter after you."

"I think it could work."

Sherlock knew it was time to go. He'd stretched this out as long as he could, but if he didn't leave now he wasn't sure he'd be able to and his staying wasn't an option. John mourned his death once and he wasn't about to put his friend through that again. He removed his glove and held his hand out.

"To the very best of times, John," he continued.

John took his hand and for a moment they said a silent goodbye. Then his friend released his hand and Sherlock turned, walking toward the plane. He didn't look back as he climbed inside and sat down. The plane was just for show. The pilot was instructed to take him to a private air strip outside of London where Mycroft would meet him then he would be taken to something called The Bridge.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	4. Crossing The Bridge

Sherlock followed his brother through a door and into an empty, white room. No furnishings, nothing on the wall. It was just a large, white room. He still half expected someone to shoot him. That would be much more believable than Mycroft's nonsense about parallel worlds and bridges. He glanced around the room, turning on the spot and then finally catching his brother's gaze.

"Where is this bridge then? Hiding behind one of the walls perhaps?" he inquired.

"It's not an actual bridge, Sherlock, not a physical one at least," Mycroft replied.

"Metaphysical then?" he inquired, sarcastically.

"I thought you, above all others, dear brother, would believe in such nonsense."

"Aha! Then you admit its nonsense."

Mycroft sighed.

"It's not a trick, Sherlock."

The detective gave his brother a disbelieving look, but Mycroft ignored that as he pulled a strange device out of his pocket. A large metal disk of some sort with a yellow button that took up most of the center. It was attached to a chain, as if it was meant to be worn around the neck.

"What's that?" the detective asked, trying to keep his curiosity to a minimum.

"It's called a dimension cannon."

"Not a very large cannon is it?"

Mycroft gave him a reproachful glance as he handed the device over. Sherlock took it, examining the device.

"It's meant to be worn around the neck."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Obviously." He slipped it over his head. "Very…retro."

"Droll, dear brother." Mycroft shifted for a moment. "We've never been…very good…friends." Wait. Was he getting…? "I know I haven't always been…the best-"

"You're not getting sentimental on me are you, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, interrupting his brother's awkward speech.

"Sentimental?" The elder Holmes blinked. "Oh, god, no."

"Good. Now, how am I to cross this metaphysical bridge?"

Mycroft motioned to the device with his umbrella.

"Push the yellow button and you're off."

Sherlock picked up the device. Push the yellow button? Was that his means of execution? Just as well. The moment he realized the only way to get rid of the threat that was Charles Augustus Magnussen was by killing the man, he knew his own death was imminent. He said his goodbyes to John and Mary the only thing left was the act itself. It seemed, for a second time, he would be the one initiating the act. He caught Mycroft's gaze and gave his brother a smile then he pushed the button.

White. A blinding white light. That's what he saw and all he saw. He felt as if he was falling, but he also felt as if he was standing. Then the light was gone and he was standing in the same room…no, not the same room. Similar, but this one had furniture, desks, chairs, cabinets and there were two people, neither of which was Mycroft. A wave of nausea hit him, but he swallowed the feeling back. Gaining control of his senses.

Something happened. Somehow he moved from one room to another and he had no idea how.

_"__It's a parallel world, Sherlock," Mycroft said._

_"__You don't really expect me to believe that, do you?" he asked._

_This was some sort of game and he wasn't about to play along. Not after everything._

_"__You don't have to believe me, brother dear, you only have to go."_

It couldn't possibly be true. He glanced around the room. Parallel to the one he'd been in. Proof that his eyes couldn't deny.

"Sherlock?" the woman asked, one of the two people in the room.

She was smiling, but her smile was hesitant, as if she wasn't sure what his reaction was going to be and, honestly, he wasn't sure what to make of the situation. So, he did what he did best. He observed. She was in her mid-twenties, physically fit from what he could see, though her long sleeve pink jumper and jeans hid her true form. Blonde hair, but her natural color was at least a few shades darker, light brown perhaps. She lived alone, no animals, but she'd been around one recently. A small dog, long haired.

The man standing next to her, business man, but he could handle a weapon, posh, but he hadn't started out that way. He seemed more wary of Sherlock, not as open as the woman. He was standing a foot in front of her, not directly, but he seemed in a ready position as if he would protect her if the occasion arose. They were close. Related. A moment later it came to him. The woman was his daughter.

He observed all that within a few seconds and returned the woman's smile. The man relaxed a bit, but he still seemed unsure.

"I seem to be at a slight disadvantage, not having been given your names," Sherlock replied.

The woman crossed the room with her father on her heels.

"I'm Rose," she said, offering her hand. "Rose Tyler and this is my-"

"Pete Tyler," the man interrupted. "Director of Torchwood."

Sherlock shook her hand and then took Mr. Tyler's hand, giving it a firm, but not too firm, shake. For some reason the man felt threatened by the detective's presence as he was trying to assert his dominant position.

"If you're done banging on your chest, Director Tyler," Rose said, mocking the man's voice when she said the last bit, but giving her father a teasing grin. "We might want to get the paperwork out of the way."

"Yes. Right. Paperwork," Mr. Tyler said, deflating at her words.

She seemed to notice the change and took her father's arm.

"You're scary enough without throwing your title at people and besides he probably doesn't even know what Torchwood is yet. Plus I've already told you I'm not interested in that sort of thing and I keep a gun under my mattress so if he sneaks in during the night he won't be very happy."

"I'm sorry…what now?" Sherlock asked, taken back by her last statement and the implications.

Rose glanced at him and laughed. Mr. Tyler also gave him a glance and what the man saw seemed to take his concerns away.

"It's not going to be that bad. Don't let the pink shirt fool you. My flat isn't filled with perfume bottles and flowers."

Sherlock was still stuck on the flat sharing detail his brother failed to mention, but then he hadn't believed Mycroft's nonsense at the time.

"_We _are sharing a flat?" he asked.

Rose released her dad's arm and stepped over to Sherlock, looping her arm through his to get him moving toward Pete's office. His mind had done the same thing the Doctor's did whenever they got on the subject of _we. _It slipped into neutral.

"Seeing as I'm the only one around here with experience when it comes to geniuses we'll be stuck together for a while. This might be London, but it's not the one you're used to. There will be differences and you need some time and help adjusting. Wouldn't want you to land in jail your first week here." He seemed to settle a bit during her rambling. "If there's one thing I can't stand its paperwork. I'd make a rubbish office worker. There's too much chaos in my life for order."

Rose was giving him insight into who she was in the same easy manner others might talk to a friend. In the span of a few seconds he learned that she was used to the company of geniuses. That, although he was in London, this parallel London, like the room, would, most likely, have differences. Ones that could get him into trouble if he didn't learn what they were. She didn't like order, which was probably why she didn't like paperwork or office work and, most likely, found it boring. She felt there was a lot of chaos in her life, but he couldn't be certain what she meant by that.

He still wasn't sure about sharing a flat with anyone, let alone a woman, John being the only flatmate he'd had since college and that hadn't gone very well. It didn't seem as if he was going to be given a choice in the matter though.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	5. His New Life

_Oh, my god he's gorgeous, _was the first thought that ran through Rose's mind when she laid eyes on Sherlock Holmes. Then she had to glance at her dad, hoping that she hadn't accidentally said that out loud, which was something she had a tendency to do, but, luckily, she hadn't. Most likely the same thought struck Pete, which was why he shifted into protective father mode. She wasn't a teenager anymore, but since he'd only been her dad for a few years he seemed to be making up for lost time.

She parked the car and cut the engine. Then opened her door and stepped out. Sherlock did likewise and they walked to the lift together. She hadn't spoken on the drive, letting him take everything in. It was London, but not his London. She noted the way he gazed up at the zeppelins, every once in a while. A stark difference, she was sure. It had been to her. The one thing that told her she wasn't in Kansas anymore.

"Your brother sent your things ahead," she said as she pushed the button for the lift. "I had them brought down and put in the spare room."

Sherlock had observed her the entire ride over. He kept his eyes seemingly trained elsewhere, but he'd watched her reflection in the passenger window. She glanced at him every once in a while, but made no effort to strike up trivial conversation as if she could sense his need for quiet.

She waited to initiate conversation until they were walking to the lift and only then to inform him that his belongings were inside her flat awaiting his arrival. She knew who he was, which meant Mycroft must have sent a file ahead and that file would, most likely contain enough unflattering information to make most people wary to be alone with him and yet she was about to open her home to him.

"You aren't in the habit of taking men home and yet you're willing to share your flat with a complete stranger?" he asked, knowing he was being blunt and aware that John would be hissing his name.

"I know who you are Sherlock Holmes," she replied.

The lift doors slid open and she stepped inside. He followed waiting while she pushed the button.

"Facts," he replied as the doors slid shut, "in a file. Facts that should have made you uneasy."

"Why's that?" she asked, sporting another grin.

"I'm sure Mycroft didn't fail to add the bit about me being a sociopath."

She looked up as if remembering, but he could tell that was for show. Then she caught his gaze.

"Nope, I don't remember that bit."

"And that doesn't bother you?"

She laughed.

"A genius who has trouble with his feelings? Yeah, been there."

"A sociopath is hardly someone who has trouble with their feelings."

"The last genius I knew wiped out an entire race. So, yeah, trouble with his feelings."

She finished with a smile, but he could see the truth in her eyes.

"He wiped out an entire race? Why?"

"They were threatening to destroy all of reality and they would've succeeded if we hadn't stopped them. He…wanted to make sure they wouldn't do it again."

"I'm sorry?" he asked.

Did she say _destroy all of reality? _

"What? You can wrap your mind around parallel worlds, but one reality bomb and you stop believing?"

"I didn't believe what my brother told me about parallel worlds either. I thought he was going to execute me."

"Sorry?" Rose asked.

Now it was her turn to wonder what he was talking about. Sherlock thought his brother was going to kill him? Why would he think that?

The lift doors slid open and she stepped out, but waited until he joined her.

"I murdered a man. One who controlled many people and his death upset a few who hold high positions in the government. They wanted my execution."

"Why did you kill him?"

"He was threatening someone I…" he glanced away. Thinking about John and Mary was difficult. "One of my friends."

"So, you killed him to protect your friend." She pulled out her key as they drew near her flat. "That doesn't make you a sociopath. If it does, guess I'm one too." She gave him a grin as she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Sherlock watched her as he stepped inside. He'd been a sociopath long before he killed the blackmailer, but this new information about her made him curious.

"You've killed someone?" he asked.

She faced him after closing the door. Her smile gone as a bit of sadness flitted around the corner of her eyes.

"More than someone, but I don't condone killing. Only as a last resort, but, yeah, there are times when it's that or letting someone we care about die and I would never let that happen."

She sat her keys on a side table as he glanced around the room. He heard her walk into what he assumed was the kitchen, but he was too busy observing the area. Open folders with official documents scattered around the room. There were devices, most of which were moving, mostly round about. A blanket was lying on the sofa, as if it'd been recently used for sleeping. There was a remote amid the papers on the coffee table and half a bowl of popcorn. Two discarded tea mugs. The floor was clean and the carpet freshly vacuumed, which was a stark contrast to the rest of the sight.

He could almost hear Mrs. Hudson shrieking at the mess. That thought brought out a smile. Rose was telling the truth. Not one perfume bottle or flower was anywhere to be seen. And that's when he noticed it. Stationed near the only window in the room. His violin, complete with stand and sheet music. There was a small side table next to it on which the rest of his sheet music had been place.

"Hope you don't mind," Rose said from behind. He'd unintentionally crossed the room toward the familiar sight. "You can take it in your room if you like. It just seemed like that's where it ought to go."

It was the exact spot where he kept it at Baker Street. Something she couldn't possibly know. Seeing it here, like this had calmed some part of him that had been wound too tightly without his notice.

"Thank you," he replied, knowing he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from saying the words even if he wanted to.

Gingerly, he lifted his violin and bow and began to play as he gazed out the window at the dark city, but not his city. He let his emotions pour into the music as he always had. It was a sad, haunting melody, but he wasn't paying attention to that. He was grieving for a city he would never again see. For Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Mary, and even Mycroft, but mostly for the man who saved him, his best friend, for John.

Rose listened to the melody. She'd heard people play before, but none of them had played as beautifully as this man. She could hear the loss, the sadness, the loneliness he felt and it brought tears to her eyes. It was akin to the same loss she'd seen in the Doctor's eyes when they first met. She let the tears fall silently, resisting the urge to wipe her cheeks for fear she'd break the spell. He needed this, needed to let his feelings out and this was his way.

She didn't realize he was finished until he turned around and caught sight of her face. He gave her a confused, worried look.

"Why are you crying? Have I done something wrong?" he asked, as if he accidentally threw a ball through the window.

He was so baffled she laughed as she raced across the room and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she said.

She pulled back after a minute and he still had that baffled look on his face.

"Sorry? Why are you sorry?"

She laughed again, wiping at her cheeks.

"I'm sorry about your friends. I'm sorry you had to leave them."

"Oh," he replied, his baffled look vanished. He replaced his violin and bow. "I'm fine."

She knew that _I'm fine _had heard it far too many times. Used it herself far too many times. It was armor. She allowed it because she knew he needed it…for now.

"I think the kettle's done. Would you like a cuppa?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Yes…thank you," he said, the last bit as an afterthought.

She hurried back into the kitchen and made their tea. When she returned he was sitting on the sofa, which was the only place to sit in the living room. She hadn't bought chairs. He was reading through one of the folders, which was what she hoped he'd do. It was the whole reason she'd left them there.

"Now you've done it," she teased, crossing the room. He glanced at her quizzically. "That's classified." She sat down handing his cup over. "Now, I've got to kill you."

She grinned and was rewarded by a slight smile.

"What are all these?" he asked, indicating the folders.

"Cases."

His eyes snapped to hers. She became his entire focus. The intensity of his gaze was a bit…overwhelming.

"Cases?" She could hear curiosity in his voice. "What sort of cases?"

"Well…let's see…" she picked up the closest folder and glanced at the name, "missing person…well, I say person, but I'm using the term loosely." She caught his gaze. "Sontaran, think potato plus human, sort of." He raised his brow. She picked up the next folder. "Homicide, a couple from Barcelona, their dog lived so that was something. I had to find a family to take the poor guy in, couldn't have him wind up in a shelter." Sherlock gave her a confused glance. "Dogs from Barcelona don't have noses. That would definitely draw attention." She picked up another folder. "Half a missing person." She couldn't even describe the look Sherlock shot her, but it made her laugh.

"Half?"

"Well, I say half, all we found was his head."

Someone killed the man, leaving only the head behind. That sounded promising. He'd, of course, need to examine the crime scene.

"So, it was a homicide," he deduced.

"Sort of." He raised his brow. "Well, not really." His brow shot up even further. "More like forced body snatching. I'm sure it was the headless monks, but first I've got to find his body-"

Headless monks? What they hell were they? It must be their title, which was strange, because, of course, they couldn't actually be headless.

"I'm sorry, did you say headless monks?"

"Religious organization. We only heard about them about a year ago from some refugees. Didn't think they'd come this far over, but that's the only thing I can figure and the description matches."

Wait. Description? Then someone must have witnessed the homicide.

"So, there was a witness?" he asked.

"No, we got a description from the victim," she replied.

Wait. What? That didn't make any sense.

"Hang on. Didn't you say the victim was decapitated?"

She grinned.

"Yep, good thing they left his head behind or we wouldn't know what happened."

But, no…what? The victim, who was decapitated, gave a description of the person who cut off his head. How?

"So…what you're saying is the victim was decapitated, but somehow he's alive?" he asked, trying to wrap his mind around the idea and finding his mind completely refusing to cooperate.

"That's what they do. They decapitate you while you're alive," she said, as if this sort of thing was every day.

"Isn't that normally the way it's done?" he inquired, that being the only question he could grab onto at the moment.

"They have a procedure that keeps the victim alive. Their body becomes a soldier and the head remains separate. It's something to do with the heart controlling the body instead of the mind."

That, but that couldn't happen. The head couldn't be separated from the body and both parts function.

"That's simply not possible," he said, glancing at the folder in her hands.

"Ah," she said nodding as she set the folder down. "You mean impossible."

His eyes snapped to hers.

"Yes, exactly."

"In my line of work, Sherlock, impossible doesn't exist."

Impossible doesn't exist. That was…this was…

"So," he said, rubbing his hands over his face, which told Rose he was having a very hard time with all this. "This is my new life."

"On the plus side," she said, giving him a grin. "You'll never be bored…wait…scratch that. I've been bore for a week straight."

"You've been bored?" he asked incredulously. "With all these?"

"I like the running, the life and death struggle, tracking things down. I can do the puzzle solving, but it's not my favorite part."

"Puzzle solving?" he asked, catching her gaze.

"Piecing together what happened," she said. "Now, the Doctor, he could do it in no time flat, but me, well, I'm good, but I'm no genius and I'm okay with that because I'm good at what I do and I like it."

She had indeed read his file, or as much of his file as Mycroft sent. It seemed his brother omitted certain details. She wasn't a genius, at least, not on his level, but she was insightful and she saw the puzzle, not like him, but also not like everyone else. She could have gone about her cases alone, but she was offering him…not a job or a position…it was more. She was offering him a place in her life, though she'd already done that by allowing him to stay, but that was also out of commitment to her father. This was different. He could see that and, if he allowed, he could feel it. There were a host of questions, his mind was teaming with them, but one stood out and that was the one he asked.

"Why?"

"Because," she said, catching his gaze. He saw something in her eyes then, something he'd only ever seen in one other person and that was his best friend, John Watson. What he saw was understanding. "I've been where you are. This is not my world, not my universe. At least, it wasn't until I was trapped here."

"You're not from here either?"

Now he understood. Why she, above all others, should share a flat with him. Why she cried when he played his violin. Why she said she was sorry. He swallowed back the lump that formed in his throat, looking away to find something to focus on, but she surprised him by taking his hand. He glanced at their hands as she took his and placed it in her lap.

"I wasn't alone," she said, catching his gaze. "I had my mum and my dad, well, a parallel version of him, but he's still my dad. Without them I don't know if I would've survived."

"You would have," he said.

She was strong. Of that he was sure. Everything he'd learned about her pointed to that truth. She laughed softly, as if she wanted to, but wasn't quite ready.

"Well, thankfully I didn't have to test that theory." She paused for a moment, giving him a look of such complete compassion that it startled him. "No one should have to be alone."

He'd never had that sort of look directed at him, for him and he didn't feel deserving of it, but instead of shooting some scathing remark, which is what he would have done if not for his friendship with John and Mary, he told her the truth.

"I'm not an angel, Rose."

She grinned.

"Good."

"Good?"

"Angels are rubbish." He stared at her for a moment, trying to work out if she understood his comment and, he could see, that she did. "Anyway," she said, releasing his hand. "I don't know about you, but I've had a day. I'm going to get some sleep. If you're up for it we can start on these cases in the morning."

He needed a distraction. She could see that and offering to let him work cases with her would give him a purpose. Something Pete had given her with Torchwood. Plus she'd missed working with someone. Jake was all right, but he wasn't like Mickey and definitely not like the Doctor.

"I'll look over the cases," he agreed.

"Sounds brilliant and remember this is your place too now so make tea, heat something up, whatever you need, but stay away from the tentacle in the icebox. It's work not food."

"Tentacle?"

"Jake brought it by this morning, but it has to stay frozen for twenty-four hours or it'll reproduce."

"Right," he replied in that tone that told her he wasn't entirely all right.

She grinned and pulled him into a hug before Sherlock knew what she was doing. She seemed to be quite fond of hugging and hand holding. Something that would've made him quite uncomfortable a year ago, more so before he met John, as he'd been quite antisocial at that point. He still wasn't entirely used to this sort of behavior, at least, unless he was initiating it as a ploy or he was in Mary's company. Rose seemed to ignore all of that as if she had no concept of personal space. No, that wasn't entirely accurate because she'd kept her distance back in the car and there were a few times here. It was as if she knew when it was all right and when it wasn't. She pulled back and smiled. He returned her smile.

"See you in the morning," she said as she stood up and walked into her room.

He watched her and didn't turn his gaze even after her door closed. Rose Tyler. She was completely unexpected and yet so much like the two people he cared about. Strong, loyal, caring, compassionate. She'd seen war, like John, he could see that and she was good at reading people, like Mary.

He turned back to the folders, putting aside all thoughts of the woman sleeping in the other room as he picked up the first one and began reading. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, even if he tried and, although it seemed there were a lot of things he didn't know about this world, there was one thing he knew on any world and that was solving crimes.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	6. Rose's Mum

Sherlock's fingers flew across the keyboard as he hacked into yet another area of Torchwood. The flat, his move, even time had slipped away, which was what usually happened when he was in his element.

Since Rose had gone to bed he'd solved five of the twelve cases that littered the coffee table, gone over a map of this new London, noting all the differences and making adjustments to his mental map of the city, then tucking that away in his mind palace, hacked into Torchwood and committed the information in their database regarding alien species to memory, which had led to another area inside the company and then another. Torchwood was similar to Baskerville in many ways. They existed outside the government, though he guessed there were a few people, the president, at least, who knew. He found it odd that this Great Britain was controlled by a president, but he didn't get stuck on that detail, knowing that, like the room, there would be differences both subtle and extreme. A president being the extreme end of things.

There were areas of Torchwood that he hadn't been successful hacking, which was saying something since his skills were unrivaled back in his old London, but then, dealing with other world technology they had obviously acquired techniques that he didn't yet know about. One area that he hadn't gotten into, the one he was most interested in, had to do with Mycroft and The Bridge. A loud knock at the front door invaded his solitude.

"Mrs. Hudson," he yelled.

Rose's eyes snapped open and she sat up quickly. Someone yelled. It took her a minute to remember that she wasn't alone. That she was sharing her flat with Sherlock Holmes. She glanced at the clock. 7 a.m. She sighed, flopping back into bed. She hadn't slept well in a few days and although she'd gone to bed around midnight she still felt tired. She closed her eyes, but abruptly opened them a moment later when a loud knock came from her front door. She recognized that knock.

"Yes. Fine," Sherlock yelled in irritation.

_No! No, no! _She leapt from her bed, pulled her door open and raced across the room. This was really bad. She jumped in front of the door, cutting Sherlock off. He stopped and stared at her in confusion.

"You…um…you don't want to get that," she said.

"Rose, I know you're in there. Your car's downstairs," a woman insisted from the other side of the door.

The woman's accent matched Rose's and a moment later Sherlock realized who the woman must be.

"You don't want to see your mother?" he inquired.

Rose looked at him in shock.

"How did you know?" she asked.

"You mentioned her last night, her accent matches yours, and it's seven in the morning," he replied.

"Rose," the woman called, her knock turning into banging.

Rose sighed. There was nothing for it. She'd have to let her mum in. She gave Sherlock a wane smile.

"I'm sorry, in advance."

Then she turned around and opened the door. Sherlock only had a moment to wonder why she was apologizing before the door opened and Rose's mother shoved her way into the room. Blonde, but like her daughter, not natural, a bit heavy set, posh clothing, trousers, blouse, low heeled shoes, make-up, angry. The woman focused her gaze on Rose first.

"I've been banging on that door for ten minutes. What the hell were you doing?" the woman snapped.

"One minute thirty-six seconds," Sherlock corrected.

The woman's irate gaze turned to him.

"This must be him then," the woman said, her voice dripping with disdain as she motioned toward him. "Bloody hell, that's all we need, another genius."

He glared at her and she returned his look, but Rose took her hand, turning the woman's focus back to her.

"Mum, did you want something?" she asked and Sherlock could tell she was trying to calm her mother and keep the peace.

"Yeah, I came over here to make sure this one," the woman gestured at him, "doesn't do to you what the last one did. You and your bloody geniuses. Why you can't settle for a normal bloke I'll never understand."

"Mum, we're not together. He needs a place to stay."

"You said that last time. Do you remember what happened after your father saved you? Because I do. You spent two years trying to get back to him and what'd you get in return? A bloody 'nother one that died after he left, not more than ten minutes after that stupid ship of his disappeared. It nearly killed you and now you want to start that whole cycle over again?"

So, when Rose mentioned she was used to being around geniuses that was what she meant. She'd been close to two men of high intelligence. One she worked for two years to get back to after she was stuck in that universe and another she was left with after she returned and that man died soon after the first one left. He could tell there was far more to the story, but he wanted to assure Mrs. Tyler of his intentions.

"Mrs. Tyler," he began, drawing her attention, which was still irritated, "I assure you that your daughter and I have a working relationship. I may be sharing her flat, but we're flat mates, that's all."

Mrs. Tyler glanced from him to her daughter.

"We're friends, mum, that's all," she said.

The word given so easily gave him pause. Friends? She hardly knew him and yet she considered him a friend?

"Well," Mrs. Tyler said, turning her focus back to Sherlock. "That better be all because if you hurt her like that other one did there'll be more than a slap in your future. Now," she shrugged out of her coat, "you can call me Jackie. None of that Mrs. Tyler nonsense." Then she eyed her daughter. "I'll make tea while you get dressed."

"I'll just be a minute," Rose said, dashing toward her room.

The last thing she wanted was to leave her mum alone with Sherlock after everything he'd been through. No one deserved that.

Jackie eyed the new man in her daughter's life. _Friends. _Yeah, she believed that about as much as she believed in unicorns, though Rose had probably seen one, but friends was how it started.

"Come on then," she said, starting across the room. "We've got a few minutes while she showers and gets ready."

The bloke, Sherlock Holmes, according to Pete, followed her into the kitchen. Her husband still seemed stunned by the idea that a fictional character could exist, but she stopped being surprised by things like that after her daughter brought the Doctor into their lives. Being inside a ship that was bigger on the inside and could travel in space and time made pretty much anything seem possible.

The point wasn't that Sherlock was real. The point was that he was a bloke and a good looking one at that and a genius, at least if the real life one was anything like the fictional character. That alone was enough to draw Rose in and since her daughter hadn't dated anyone in a few years, well, Jackie knew it was only a matter of time before Rose fell for this bloke.

"You're worried your daughter will develop feelings for me," Sherlock said as Mrs. Tyler filled the kettle.

"That's already happened," Jackie replied.

"We only met yesterday," Sherlock dismissed believing Mrs. Tyler to be overacting.

"Rose cares about people. That's who she is, Sherlock. She said you're friends and to her that's what you are." Jackie put the kettle on and turned around, eyeing him. "If you weren't who you are I wouldn't be worried."

"A genius," he deduced.

"Not just that. She's been around smart people before. There are loads of them at Torchwood," she dismissed. "Your life is dangerous and that's what she likes, the danger, and fixing."

Fixing? What did she mean by that?

"I'm sorry?"

"Making things better."

Mrs. Tyler definitely had the wrong idea about him. _Making things better _as she put it was John's line of work, not his. Sherlock solved the crime, John saved the life. That's how it worked, or, how it used to work.

"That's not what I do," he insisted.

"Yes, it is. You save people, whether that's your intention or not and that's what she does, it's what _he _taught her. You're like him. Genius, moody, surrounded by danger, alone. I came over here to stop it, but I'm already too late."

_Already too late? _What did she mean by that? He watched her pulled three cups from the cupboard, but before he could ask the woman to elaborate Rose joined them.

"If you want to get back to what you were doing I'll bring your cuppa in," she said, giving him an excuse to leave the scene, which he was more than happy to take.

He nodded and then headed back to the sofa, but his mind was more focused on Mrs. Tyler's words than hacking into Torchwood. A moment later that was pushed aside as the woman's scream reached him. He rushed back into the kitchen to find Mrs. Tyler on the other side of the kitchen and Rose in front of the open refrigerator laughing.

"What the bloody hell are you doing with a tentacle in your icebox?" the woman shouted.

"It's for work and I've told you to stay out of the freezer," Rose replied, still laughing.

"It moved!"

"It's frozen, it can't move."

Sherlock glanced from one woman to the other. Rose caught his gaze and smiled. He returned her smile shaking his head. He turned around and headed back into the living room his thoughts turning to all the times John and Mrs. Hudson had yelled about body parts in his refrigerator. What would they think of a tentacle?

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	7. A Sontaran Murder Part 1

Sherlock waited while Rose said her goodbyes to Mrs. Tyler, who had also said goodbye to him and he'd replied with the same, but kept his focus on the laptop, though that was a ruse. A few moments later Rose joined him on the sofa as he expected. His conversation with Mrs. Tyler still fresh in his mind.

Rose, like John, was attracted to a certain lifestyle and the rush of adrenalin that lifestyle provided. A lifestyle she'd been drawn into by her friend and after the man left her she'd stayed in that lifestyle. Solving cases for Torchwood.

"Sorry about that," Rose said, flopping down on the sofa next to him. "She's a handful."

"She's concerned about you," he replied.

She rolled her eyes playfully.

"She's always concerned about me." She glanced at the folders. "So, did you pick a case?"

"I've solved five. They're stacked on the left," he replied.

"Solved them?" she inquired, picking up the first folder. "Without leaving the flat?"

"They were obvious," he said and then realized a moment later he probably shouldn't have said that, but she grinned.

"That's brilliant!"

Her phone rang, interrupting them. She picked it up off the coffee table and glanced at the caller ID. Pete.

"Hello?" she asked, answering it.

"There's been a murder. Sontaran section. Flat B. Basement. If you don't have time I can send Collins."

She loathed Collins. He was the most arrogant, self-righteous sod she'd ever met. His sole purpose in life seemed to be to get a date with her, though date wasn't really his intention. He just wanted to get her back to his flat, which was never going to happen. Unfortunately, he was also the only other investigator Torchwood employed.

"No, don't send Collins. We'll be there," she said.

"Tell Sherlock he did an excellent job on those reports."

Sorry…what?

"Reports?" she asked, trying to work out what her dad was talking about.

"I thought you'd gone round the bend when I saw that you set him up with his own Torchwood account the day after he arrived, but five reports, five cases solved. Can't beat that."

"I thought you'd be pleased," she lied, eyeing Sherlock. "I'll let you know what we find at the flat."

"I look forward to it."

Pete hung up, but she kept her eyes on the detective who raised his brow.

"That was my dad," she said, pocketing her mobile.

"Sounded like he has a case," Sherlock replied.

"Yeah and he wanted to thank me for setting you up with a Torchwood account."

"Oh. Right," he replied, his eyes shifting around the room.

He meant to mention that after she woke, but her mother's appearance had pushed that to the back of his mind.

"How did you get into my account? Its password protected," she asked.

He caught her gaze with a shrug, as if to say it wasn't hard.

"You mentioned the name The Doctor last night and it was easy to work out that he was the friend both you and your mother spoke of. Since you regard your friends in such high standing and he seemed to be the one you most cared about that was my first choice."

She laughed, giving his arm a playful shove, which wasn't what he expected and he couldn't stop himself from laughing with her.

"Remind me to change my passwords," she said as she stood up and grabbed her coat.

Sherlock followed her, sliding into first his dress jacket and then his coat.

"If you're worried about someone breaking into your account I could come up with a new one," he replied, giving her a smile as he put his scarf on.

She had such an easy demeanor that it was hard not to fall into that with her.

"That sort of defeats the purpose of keeping you out," she teased, returning his smile as she opened the door.

"That's not possible, but good luck trying."

She laughed as they stepped into the hall and walked to the lift. She pushed the button for the lift and then glanced at him.

"So, what else did you do while I was sleeping? Besides solving five cases, hacking into my account, creating your own account, and writing up the reports?" she asked.

"Committed the aerial map of London from Torchwood's database to memory and their files on alien species, known weapons, surveillance, and intelligence gathering devices," he replied as if he was going over a shopping list.

The lift doors slid open. She pushed the button for the parking garage and then eyed him with a grin.

"You are human, yeah?" she asked.

"As far as I know," he said, returning her smile, but as the lift doors slid shut she startled him by placing her hand on his chest over his heart for a moment. "What are you doing?" She slid her hand to the other side of his chest and for just a moment his breath caught. It was strange and not something he expected. Then she removed her hand and stepped back with a grin.

"Just checking and, yeah, you're human."

"Okay," he managed, still trying to work out exactly what happened and why his body had behaved so abnormally. "So…" he glanced at her. "…the case."

"Murder. Sontaran."

The doors slid open and Rose stepped out. Sherlock was human, though how he could retain that much information she had no idea. Maybe he was one of those people who had a photographic memory. She'd heard about that, but she'd never met someone with that ability, well, not outside the Doctor, but his ability to do with being a Time Lord.

"We're headed to the Sontaran Section then," he said as if stating a fact. She glanced at him quizzically. "Torchwood map of London."

She pulled her keys out and unlocked the door then hit the button to unlock Sherlock's. She climbed in the car, starting it as he got in.

"Some of our visitors don't like to intermingle and the Sontarans are one of them. Sontarans can get out of hand quickly," she explained.

"Because of their nature," he replied, surprising her again, he seemed to be quite good at that. "According to the files they're a clone race, cloned as adults for the purpose of war."

"Right." _Blimey he really is a genius. _"Which means we have to solve this fast. That's why Pete wanted us. He would've sent in Collins if not for your reports."

"Collins?" he asked.

"Andrew Collins he's been working for Torchwood for five years as an ACI, alien crime investigator and he's the biggest tosser I've ever met."

"Then why doesn't your father fire him?"

"Because his family supports Torchwood. Two of them hold offices so I'm stuck with him."

Sherlock turned his attention out the window. He heard the disdain in Rose's voice and he wondered what sort of person this Andrew Collins could be to initiate such a response from someone like her.

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	8. A Sontaran Murder Part 2

The first thing Rose noticed as she pulled up to the flat was that she wasn't the first investigator to arrive. Collins was already there, more than that, he'd brought Torchwood's Alpha Unit with him and they were already setting up barriers, cordoning off the entire community, which was the quickest route to a riot and that's the last thing they needed.

"Bloody Idiot," she snapped, cutting the engine and throwing her door open.

Sherlock climbed out of the car and followed Rose to a posh, blond haired bloke who was giving orders to a soldier in a black uniform. The word Torchwood was written across the soldier's vest.

"Collins, what the hell are you doing here?" she demanded.

"I brought a unit down here as soon as I heard," he replied, obviously ignoring her anger as he gave her a smile.

Sherlock observed the display. Rose openly disliked the man, but Collins' attitude told a different story. The man was trying to assert a dominant role between them. Collins showing up was a power play and one Sherlock didn't like.

"I don't need you or a Torchwood Unit. Get the hell out of here before you make matters worse."

As Sherlock watched ten or so Sontarans…potato plus human, very accurate…wondered out of their flats and took up positions around the barriers.

"I'm not going to leave you in a potentially dangerous situation alone, Rose."

Collins' use of her first name was another step in his ploy for dominance. Sherlock narrowed his eyes. _Arrogant dickhead _he could almost hear John mutter.

"I can take care of this myself without cordoning off the entire neighborhood," she snapped.

"I seem to recall a certain investigator being held captive for three hours the last time we had a murder in one of these sections of town," he replied with a smile.

Rose could've slapped him. That situation getting out of hand was entirely on him and his inability to see anyone outside the human race as a person. She stepped closer to him, glaring daggers.

"You know damn well whose fault that was," she snapped.

"If you would've let me do my job-" he began.

"You were interrogating a five year old child-" she interrupted.

Sherlock could see the situation getting out of hand and, although, he felt Collins deserved what he could see Rose was about to do he remembered what she said about his family's position.

"Alien, not child, you always get that confused," Collins corrected.

Before she could stop herself her arm flung out to give Collins the slap he deserved, but Sherlock caught her wrist. She glared at him, but he gave her a knowing gaze and then released her wrist, glancing at Collins.

"I believe the point Ms. Tyler is trying to make is that your services are neither requested nor needed."

"Who the hell are you?" Collins demanded.

"Sherlock Holmes."

Collins laughed.

"Yeah, and I'm the bloody President."

"Well, then Mr. President, you're services are no longer required. Do you need an escort to your presidential limo?"

Collins glared at him and then glanced at Rose.

"Who the hell is this?"

"My new partner."

"What? What partner? Your father didn't mention anything about giving you a partner," Collins sputtered, completely furious.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware the director of Torchwood couldn't make any decisions without running them by you first. Huh. Must have missed that memo," she replied, shooting Sherlock a grin that he returned.

"He can't just hire people off the street. The last thing Torchwood needs is another…" Collins trailed off.

"Another what, Collins?" Rose snapped.

Sherlock knew what the man was implying and he resisted the urge to punch the tosser. Instead he observed the man, knowing that would be enough to silence him. Mid-twenties, blonde hair, posh, expensive suit, devoid of jacket, no pets, lipstick on his collar, a name written on the tag of his shirt, Andr…Sherlock smiled. There was a paper sticking out of the bloke's pocket, a list. He could only read the first word, but that was enough.

"Now that we're here you'll have time to pick up the shopping before lunch," Sherlock said, eyeing the man.

"Sorry?" Collins asked.

Rose gave him a quizzical look.

"If your mother's going to make Sunday roast you might want to get to the shop soon since it's already fifteen after nine. You should be home just in time to have lunch before heading back to Torchwood."

"What are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything. It's obvious from your name, written on your shirt's tag that your mother does your laundry, which also tells me you still live at home. The lipstick on your collar was also from her, probably when you wiped your cheek after she kissed you this morning before you left the house for the day. That coupled with the list in your pocket, Sunday roast being the first item told me all I needed to know."

Collins glared at Sherlock, stepping closer.

"I don't know who you think you are," Collins said, poking Sherlock in the chest, "but I'll make damn sure-"

He was cut off by the detective grabbing his wrist and applying just enough pressure to make the man wince.

"You will refrain from ever touching me again. Furthermore you will leave Ms. Tyler alone and stop trying to assert a dominant position over her when we both know that her intelligence far outweighs yours." Sherlock caught Collins' gaze. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Y-yes," Collins stammered.

"Good." He released the man's wrist. "Now, then you have shopping and we have a case. Rose?" he asked, turning to her and received a smile, one that could brighten an entire room and immediately brought a smile to him. He offered his arm. "Shall we?"

"We shall," she replied, taking his arm and walking toward the flat with him.

Once they were inside she surprised him by throwing her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. He felt his breath catch again and for a moment he couldn't move.

"Oh, my god. That was brilliant!" she exclaimed before pulling back and gazing into his eyes with that bright smile.

He smiled in return.

"Glad to be of service," he replied.

"He really did deserve a slap though."

"I agree, but with his family's position I was afraid you might strain things for the Director."

"You're right," she said, still smiling. "Of course you're right, but I'm am glad you had to give his wrist a tweak. Wish I'd gotten that with my camera. Could've saved the noise he made for my ring tone."

She laughed and he joined her.

"Maybe next time," he said, making her grin. "So, crime scene?"

"Right. Work." She glanced around the hall. "Basement."

He followed her down the hall and a small set of stairs to the door of a basement flat. She opened it and stepped inside. He glanced around the room. The living room appeared typical, sofa, chair, lamps, side tables, telly, but everything was a bit advanced. Futuristic some would call it. He guessed Torchwood had to do with outfitting the flats. The Sontaran's body was slumped over the coffee table, face down in a bowl of some kind of liquid, soup perhaps.

Sherlock crossed the room and began examining the Sontaran. Rose followed him, but kept quiet. This was his first case and he'd already proven to her that he'd done his homework, studying the different alien species and other Torchwood files. She decided to let him take the lead on this one. He earned it for telling Collins off. She smiled at the memory.

He lifted the Sontaran enough to get a look at the bloke's face then set the body back down and pulled a magnifying glass from his pocket. Then he began examining the body. After a few minutes Sherlock stood up and closed the magnifying glass, sliding it back into his pocket.

"Accidental drowning," he said.

"Sorry?" she asked, not expecting a cause that fast.

"There's a crack in the flat screen, which he'd been using to play a sports game. The ball is lying on the floor, just there," he noted, pointing the ball out.

"Okay," she said, glancing from the screen to the ball and that's when she realized what happened. "Oh. Oh! So, he was playing a game and he probably got upset, which everyone's known to do, threw the ball too hard, it broke the screen bounced off and…" She glanced around the room and saw a blue mark on the back wall the same color as the ball. "…hit the wall there and came back striking him in the back of the neck where his breathing tube is, knocked him out and he landed in his soup where he drowned."

"Precisely," he replied, earning a smile, which made him smile.

"You're brilliant," she exclaimed, pulling out her phone. She began typing. "Just sending a text to Pete to let him know." She glanced at him. "This has got to be a record. Murder solved in five minutes twenty-two seconds." Her phone chimed a moment later. She read the text. "My dad says your badge is ready."

"My…what?" Sherlock asked.

"Your Torchwood ID badge. It's like having a key that gets you in pretty much everywhere." She looped her arm through his, giving him a smile. "Unfortunately that means you're stuck with me. You don't mind do you?"

"I suppose I'll simply have to make do. Burden that you are," he replied with a smile.

She slapped his arm playfully as they walked out the door. The soldiers were still there and Rose instructed them to call in the cleaners and then clear the area. A few minutes later she and Sherlock were back in the car headed for Torchwood.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	9. Partner in Crime

Rose took Sherlock's arm as they walked to the lifts in Torchwood's underground parking garage. Even though they'd known each other for less than twenty-four hours it was becoming a familiar feeling, having her there and, for him, it was quite…strange.

She released his arm as they drew up to the lifts and removed a cord from her neck that had been carefully tucked under her lilac jumper. Her ID card with a magnetic strip on the back hung from the cord. Within the few seconds the front was visible he read and committed her information to memory.

"Rose M. Tyler," he said as she ran her card through the scanner. "What's the M. stand for?"

She glanced at him and grinned.

"I'm not telling you," she replied.

"Why not?"

"If you want to know so bad you figure it out."

"Mary?" he guessed.

She slid the cord back over her neck and laughed.

"Nice try, but no."

"Miranda?"

She raised her brow, grinning as she took his arm.

"Nope."

The lift doors slid open and she led him inside.

"Madison?"

She laughed as the doors closed.

"Not even close."

"Mora?"

"You're persistent, you are."

"Was that a no?"

"That was a no for Mora."

"Michelle?"

She laughed.

"Rose Michelle Tyler…" She shook her head. "…no, try again."

"It is a girl's name, isn't it?"

"Does the famous Sherlock Holmes need a clue?" she asked as she leaned her head against his shoulder, which was completely unexpected.

He glanced at her and couldn't help smiling as she gazed up at him. She grinned in return.

"Maria?"

She laughed.

"Nope."

At that moment the lift doors slid open and they stepped into a reception area lit by ceiling panels. A woman with curly red hair looked up from her desk and smiled.

"Rose," the woman greeted as they walked up to her desk. "Did you hear what happened to Collins? Said some bloke broke his wrist. He's out the rest of the day."

"I did not break his wrist," Sherlock said.

"Nancy," Rose introduced, barely holding back her laugh. "This is Sherlock, Sherlock this is Nancy, my dad's receptionist."

"Oh, my god. That was you?" Nancy asked, smiling.

"Yes, but I didn't break his wrist."

"He was being a tosser, as usual," Rose explained. "He's the one who got physical, Sherlock merely stopped him by grabbing his wrist, but Collins was fine, just a bit ego hurt, but, of course, he's milking it up."

"So…wait," Nancy said, glancing from Rose to Sherlock and back. "Is this your boyfriend? Oh. Why didn't I see it? You two make such an adorable couple."

"Sorry?" Rose asked, completely shocked.

"What?" Sherlock inquired, equally as shocked. "She's not-"

"He's not-"

"I'm not-"

"We're not-"

"Together," the both finished, then glanced at each other.

"Oh." Nancy said, smiling as she nodded her head. "Right. If you're looking for Pete he's in his office."

Rose ignored Nancy's implication as she started toward the door to her dad's office. She heard Sherlock fall into step behind her. A moment later she opened the door and stepped inside, followed by the detective. Pete looked up and smiled.

"Hi, luv," he greeted, standing up and stepping around the desk to hug his daughter. "Sherlock." He offered his hand, which the detective shook, returning the smile Mr. Tyler gave him. "Excellent work on those reports and the murder…I mean accident as it turns out."

"Thank you, but I couldn't have done it without Rose," Sherlock said and then paused, trying to work out why he just said that.

She laughed.

"He's full of it," she said, taking his arm. "It was all him."

"It was both of us."

Pete put his arm around his daughter's shoulder and pulled her into a hug.

"That's my Rose, more clever than both your parents put together." He kissed her cheek and then released her. "Anyway, you're here for this," he turned around and picked the ID up from his desk and then turned around.

Pete handed his card over. There was already a picture in place, one Mycroft most likely provided with his file. He read over the information. William Sherlock S. Holmes. Followed by his age, birth date, and Torchwood title.

"So, William's your first name," Rose said.

"Technically," he replied.

He never liked the name William. He always felt Sherlock suited him more.

"What's the S. stand for?" she asked.

He smiled and was about to repeat her answer to the same question he asked earlier, but Pete beat him to it.

"Scott," Pete replied.

"That's not fair," Sherlock said.

Rose laughed.

"What?" Pete asked, having no idea what they were talking about.

"His ID's like mine, yeah? Not like the one you gave Collins?"

"You trust him and that's good enough for me."

"Thanks dad," she said, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him. She pulled back a minute later.

"Do you have any questions?" Pete asked, glancing at him.

"One. What's your daughter's middle name?"

Pete glanced from him to Rose and then smiled.

"Oh, that's easy it's-"

She reached her father in the next second and clamped her hand over his mouth.

"Say one more word and I'm telling mum about those magazines you hid in the garage," she threatened.

Pete's eyes widened.

"That entirely unfair," Sherlock protested.

"That's not how I see it," she replied after releasing her dad. "Now, I don't know about you, but I could eat."

She took his arm and led him out the door then back to the lift. After lunch they could start on one of those old cases. Hopefully there would be some running involved this time. She always liked the running.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	10. Sherlock Holmes, Like the Stories?

Sherlock followed Rose into the small Italian restaurant. He glanced around the room. It reminded him of Angelo's. He removed his coat and scarf and then sat down in the chair across from her with a view of the window. A moment later a heavy set woman with dark, wavy hair piled on top of her head bustled over to them with menus.

"Rose," the woman greeted with the tiniest touch of an accent. "It's so good to see you."

Rose stood up and gave the woman a hug.

"Maria," she pulled back and gazed at the woman. "You're looking good."

"I took your advice and went back home for two weeks. It was nice seeing everyone, especially my sister. She's doing much better now." Maria's eyes fell on Sherlock. "Who's this?"

"Sherlock Holmes," he said, holding out his hand.

Maria took it, beaming.

"Like the stories."

Oh. Rose's eyes snapped to Sherlock. She'd completely forgotten to talk to him about that. _Damn! _She meant to do that this morning, but then her mum showed up and she got sidetracked, as usual.

"Stories?" Sherlock asked.

He caught the alarmed look in Rose's eyes, which gave him pause. Stories? What stories? And why would they make her…worried? Yes, that was the look in her eyes.

"Maria," Rose said, drawing the woman's attention. "I've just remembered that I have some work back at my flat, some reports I have to get in. Would you mind getting us two orders of fish and chips to go?"

"Not at all. Anything for you. Did she tell you, Mr. Holmes?" Maria asked wrapping her arm around Rose's shoulder. "This girl saved my son's life. He was possessed."

"I told you it wasn't a demon. It was a Chrysalis and it wasn't going to kill him."

"You saved my Antonio. I'll bring the fish and chips for you and your boyfriend."

"He's not my-" Rose began, but Maria had bustled off without listening.

She sat down and gave Sherlock an apologetic grin.

"Sorry about that. Maria's great though. Only place I've found where I can get decent fish and chips. The normal shops use this weird health oil and it makes them taste like rubbish. Maria doesn't have to use it since she doesn't normally serve them, but after I helped with the Chrysalis she wanted to cook me something in return. I tried to turn her down, but she insisted. I hadn't had decent fish and chips in a couple years and mentioned that. Now, she makes them for me whenever I come in."

Sherlock had been watching her the entire time. He caught the way her eyes darted around the room, but never focused on his, which told whatever was behind those stories Maria mentioned Rose didn't want to tell him. And that made him curious.

"What stories?" he asked.

Her eyes snapped to his.

"Stories?" she inquired, as if she didn't know what he was talking about.

"You know perfectly well what stories. So far you haven't lied to me, Rose. Is this where it begins?"

She sighed.

"No, of course not and I wasn't planning on lying about it. I don't do that, especially not with friends. I was going to tell you this morning, but my mum came over and we got sidetracked with that case. I will tell you, but not here. That's why I asked for our lunch to go. It'll be better if I show you."

"All right," he agreed.

A half hour later Rose stepped into their flat followed by Sherlock. She sat the takeout cartons on the coffee table and then removed her jacket and hung it up. She stepped into her room while Sherlock removed his coat and scarf. There was a bookshelf next to her bed with a few titles she treasured. Conan Doyle's collection being one of her favorites because the Doctor had referenced Sherlock Holmes so many times. She picked it up and carried it back into the room.

Sherlock was sitting on the sofa and she joined him. His eyes shifted from the book in her hands to her. It was a first edition and quite old with no title on the front and from his position he couldn't read the spine. She knew there was only one way so she handed him the book.

He opened it and leafed through to the contents. She caught the way his eyes widened as he read through the titles. He immediately turned to A Study In Scarlet. She waited while he read through most of it, which didn't take him very long. Next was Hound of the Baskervilles. He didn't seem agitated, but she could tell he wasn't taking it very well. Another few minutes and he was reading through The Sign of the Four. He sucked in a breath after a couple minutes and closed the book. His eyes trained on the telly, but she knew he wasn't seeing it.

"How?" he finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I don't know," she admitted. "If the Doctor were here-"

"He's not," Sherlock yelled, startling her, but she knew he wasn't angry with her.

He was upset. He dealt in science and facts. Within the last twenty-four hours he'd had to accept an entire universe of facts that he believed to be nothing more than stories and now he held in his hand a book of stories featuring himself as the main character. In this world he was the story and faced with that he was unraveling. Well, she wasn't going to let that happen.

She drew as close to him as she could and took his hand.

"You're Sherlock Holmes and you're real," she said, matter-of-factly.

He glanced at her and she could see the fear in his eyes.

"Not according to this," he replied, lifting the book.

"This," she said, reaching out with her free hand and taking the book, "is a bunch of stories about a fictional character who lived over a hundred years ago." She tossed the book on the coffee table. "You're not a story. You're William Sherlock Scott Holmes with a brother and parents and friends and a life."

"That's easy for you to say," he snapped.

"You're right," she said, catching his gaze. "Rose Tyler wasn't a fictional character here, but she wasn't a person either." His brows drew together in confusion, banishing a bit of the fear. "Rose Tyler was a little dog."

"I'm sorry?" he asked, not entirely sure he heard her correctly.

"When I first got stuck here, sort of a twenty-four hour layover because the Doctor's ship fell through a crack," She held up her hand dismissively when Sherlock's confused look deepened. "When I first got here I saw a billboard with my dad's image. In my universe my dad died when I was little, but here he was alive so I talked the Doctor into letting me see him. We went to his house and I saw him and a parallel version of my mum, but when she called my name instead of a parallel version of me, this little dog comes running down the stairs wearing one of those collars with a bell. It was horrible," she finished, but couldn't stop herself from grinning.

"You were a…dog?" he asked and a moment later he grinned.

"Don't laugh," she insisted, but she was still grinning. "It's not funny."

"A little dog with a little bell," he said, motioning at the base of his throat where the bell would go.

She gave his arm a playful slap.

"Wait," he said, giving her pause. "Oh." He smiled. "Oh, that's good, that's rich." He caught her gaze, smiling. "Your parents still have her." Rose's eyes widened confirming his deduction. "They changed her name, but it's her."

He started laughing and she shoved him, but she was laughing too.

"If you tell anyone I'll slap you," she threatened, which only made him laugh more.

She moved to shove him again, but he caught her wrists and in the next moment his laughter died down as he gazed at her eyes, noting the way they sparkled with her inner light, the flush in her cheeks, and the way her hair hung down, framing her face.

Her mobile rang, interrupting them.

"Um…" she said and he could tell that she'd been lost in her own thoughts. "I…um…I should probably get that."

"Right," he replied, releasing her wrists. "Do you have any coffee?"

"There's some in the cupboard, second from the left," she said as she fished her phone out of her pocket.

Sherlock took a step and then paused, glancing at her.

"Would you like a cup?"

"I could use a cup. I take it with two sugars."

Hang on. What?

"Two sugars?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's in the same cupboard," she replied as she answered the phone.

He filled the kettle and put in on then pulled out two cups, the coffee, sugar, and a spoon. The entire time his mind was focused on what transpired between them. He'd been with women before, but always with an ulterior motive, always as a ploy. He didn't condone love, not for him. Friendship, yes, with John and on a smaller scale with others, like Mary, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade, but not love. It stood opposed to the pure cold reason that he held above all other things. Love, the particular sort of romantic love between a couple was irrational and sentimental.

He went over all of that, everything that he believed and yet he couldn't deny that for the briefest time that cold reason had slipped and instead of observing all the details about the woman he had seen the woman behind the observations. It was true that he was different after John and Mary, but this…this wasn't him. He leaned back against the counter and steepled his fingers.

Rose was his friend. He could accept that. What he felt stemmed from his separation from his other friends and the life he'd known. It wasn't love. He was a sociopath, incapable of feeling the way others felt. He looked at the world with cold reason, calculating reason. His mind was simply fighting this new world and his place in it. That was all.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	11. Case Of The Eccentric Bookie Part 1

Rose sighed as she hung up her mobile. The call had been from her mum, reminding her about the party she was throwing next week, but Rose's mind wasn't on parties. It was on Sherlock and what had started as a way to alleviate the fear he felt before he started questioning his existence and had almost turned into…what? A kiss? Something more? She couldn't be sure because the phone call stopped them.

They were friends, but she felt something more. She knew that and she couldn't deny it. Sherlock was a bit like the Doctor, genius, moody, with a darkness, but he was different. Different personality, different past, different everything with one exception. He needed her because he was alone.

She had to be careful. Friends was what they were and that's how it needed to stay. She hadn't been with anyone since the Doctor and she hadn't been with him, at least not in a relationship, for very long. It was after the Cybermen and Pete's World that things between them changed and it was great, brilliant. They were still friends, but they were also together. He never said the words though and she was okay with that, knowing how afraid he was of the day he'd watch her die, but he promised he wouldn't leave her behind. _Not you. _

Then they were separated and he almost said them, would have if his image hadn't faded and that gave her the strength to fight her way out of there. To find him and she did, but the universe was cruel and it extracted a price. Her happiness, but she'd grieved and finally managed, not to get over it because how do you get over something like that? But she was okay. She moved on and she knew he moved on too because that's what he did.

She couldn't change things with Sherlock, couldn't take that chance, once again, her happiness would be a price she'd have to pay. Friends was good. It meant neither of them would be alone and that was enough. She heard Sherlock enter the room and she took a breath, wiping her eyes before he reached her.

"So," she said as he sat down and handed her coffee over, "you were going to pick a case, yeah?"

"Right," he replied, noting the slight redness and swelling around her eyes that indicated she'd been crying, but also noting that she wanted to focus on something else. He picked up the first three folders in the unsolved stack. "Three disappearances. A Sontaran from his flat outside the Sontaran Section, A Zocci vanished after closing the bookstore he ran, and a Krillitane on his way home from work, car found seemingly abandoned. Three random disappearances that aren't random at all."

"You think they're connected?"

"Look at the date each victim vanished."

She took the folders and opened each one in turned. The first victim had been taken three months ago on the fifth of that month, then the next on the fifth of the following month and so on. They weren't random and they weren't disappearances.

"They were taken," she said. "We have to find whoever's doing this and we have…" she glanced at the date on her watch. "Two days until it happens again."

She picked up her phone and called her dad. He answered after the second ring.

"Rose?" he asked.

"We're coming in," she said, standing up and grabbing her coat as Sherlock slid his on. "I'm going to text you some addresses and dates. I need you to make sure the camera feed is ready when we get there."

"What's this about?"

"I'll explain when we get there." She hung up and pocketed her mobile as she put her coat on. Then she opened the door and stepped out with Sherlock following. As soon as he closed the door she handed her mobile over. He gave her a quizzical look. "I'll make sure you get your own, but for now you'll need to use mine to text Pete the addresses and dates, which I'm sure you don't need the folders to remember."

She grinned. He returned a smile as he took her mobile and began texting faster than she'd ever seen anyone text in her life. He handed her phone back as she pushed the button for the lift.

"Dates, addresses, and time frames," he explained.

"You're good," she replied as the lift doors slid open.

"I know."

She smiled as she took his arm and they stepped into the lift together.

"I would say, don't let it go to your head, but it's already too late for that," she teased.

Sherlock glanced at her and smiled as the doors closed, glad that they were able to fall back into the banter that, not so long ago, he would've found trivial, but Mary had taught him that was the way with friendship. He'd been afraid after what almost happened between them that this would cease, that she would be different around him, but it seemed she wasn't like that.

About twenty minutes later Rose led Sherlock into her office, which was set up with five monitors, affixed to one of the walls. A littered desk and chair were at the far end of the room. She didn't use her office very often, choosing to work on the go or from her flat. She'd never been keen on offices.

"I've got the camera feed ready to go," Pete said, indicating three of the monitors with different images of city streets. "So, what's this about?"

Rose watched Sherlock step over to the monitors and begin typing on the keyboards to get the footage started. She turned her attention to her dad.

"It looks like three of the recent disappearances are linked," she said.

"Linked how?"

"They started three months ago, one each month and all on the fifth day."

"So, they're kidnappings?" Pete asked.

"Or serial killings," Sherlock said without taking his eyes from the monitors.

"Serial killings?"

"Or something else. Oh! Yes," the detective exclaimed. "Look there, Rose." He pointed out the middle monitor. The one that showed the footage outside the Sontaran's house. She joined him. It was paused on the image of a white van. She could just make out two men in the front, both appeared to be wearing ski-masks. "Now watch." He hit play and both men got out and walked around to the back of the flat, a few minutes later they returned dragging an unconscious Sontaran.

"Why didn't anyone go over the camera feed before?" Pete asked and she could hear the irritation in his voice.

"They're Collins' cases," she replied.

"Same van here," Sherlock said, drawing her attention to the monitor on the left. The one outside the bookshop. They could just make out the front of the van parking in the alley next to the building. A few moments later the men got out, but they didn't come to the front of the shop. "They accessed the shop from the alley." He glanced at Pete. "Can we get a better angle on that alley?"

"I'll see what I can do," Pete said, pulling out his phone and then stepping into the hall to make a call to Torchwood's Communications Department.

"What about the car?" Rose asked. "Seems strange that they wouldn't have waited until he was home or taken him from work at the end of the day."

"He worked at a bank downtown, probably had underground parking with security. Might have been the same for his residence making it easier to take him en-route." The camera feed showed the same van with the victim's car directly behind it. The van slowed, the back doors opened and two armed men in ski-masks jumped out pointing their guns at the man in the car, who wasn't a man. One held a gun on him while the other ran over and opened the door, pulling him out.

Rose watched the man lead the Krillitane to the back of the van. They climbed in, the doors closed and they were off.

"I don't understand. He was a Krillitane. Why didn't he fight back? Change?"

Sherlock rewound the footage. He knew what Rose meant. The Krillitane might look human, but that wasn't his true form. Something happened when the kidnapper grabbed him. Sherlock zoomed in on the exchange.

"What is that?" he asked, indicating the greenish liquid on the kidnapper's gloves.

"That's Krillitane oil. If they get it on their skin it burns them like acid," Rose explained. "That's why he didn't fight back."

"It seems our kidnappers have done their homework," Sherlock said.

"They know more than they should. What do they want with them?"

"They're working their way up the ladder." She glanced at him. "The Zocci was first. They're small and according to Torchwood's files mostly peaceful. The Sontaran was next. A war race with limited intelligence. The Krillitane is both powerful and intelligent. They're using them for something."

"Whoever's responsible," Rose said, barely holding back her anger. "I want a word with them."

Sherlock glanced at her and gave her a smile.

"As soon as we can locate the van I'll arrange that."

"I've traced the plates and they're fake, but I'll give you one step more," Pete said, sliding his phone into his pocket as he stepped back in the room. "I've put the entire communications department on following the van from the last kidnapping back to wherever they took the Krillitane. We get a location-"

"We find the kidnappers," Sherlock finished.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	12. Case Of The Eccentric Bookie Part 2

Rose pulled up next to the old warehouse. The location the Communications Department traced the van to that night. They went over the feed for the day and no one had come to or from the building, but that didn't mean there wasn't anyone there. Sherlock hadn't been too happy when she insisted he wear one of the vests, but she wasn't going to lose anyone else and it didn't take him long to realize that the only person who won an argument with a Tyler was a Tyler.

"All right," she said, pulling two earpieces from her coat pocket. "Put this on." She handed his over and then put hers on. It fit around the outside of the ear with a bit that rested at the top of the canal and then a bit that jutted out to speak into. "That way if we get separated and something happens we can let the other know. You can also reach Torchwood by tapping it twice. Ready?"

Sherlock nodded and they both climbed out of the car. She pulled her tranq gun as they approached the door. It was made to look like a normal service pistol; similar to a glock, but it was in fact a tranquilizer gun. Sherlock did the same with the one she provided him as they climbed the stairs to the door.

She opened the door and he quickly aimed the gun through the opening. The inside was darker, but there was still enough fading light streaming through the windows to see the area was empty.

"It's clear," he said and then stepped inside.

Rose followed him into an empty room. A bit of trash littered the floor, empty cans and a few papers. A hall led off directly across from them, growing darker the further away. She pulled out her torch and clicked it on. She exchanged a glance with Sherlock, nodding toward the hall. She didn't want to speak unless she had to, the empty building would no doubt provide echoes, warning anyone who might still be there of their presence. Then she started down the hall with Sherlock beside her.

He shone his own torch down the hall as they made steady progress. The warehouse appeared to be empty. The kidnappers brought the Krillitane there so this must be where they kept the creatures. There was something nagging him about the case though. It had been nagging him since he watched the camera feed, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

They made their way down the hall, checking each door they came to, but all the rooms appeared to be empty. Rose was beginning to get the feeling that the entire warehouse was going to be a bust. Completely empty with no trace of the kidnappers, which meant they'd be no further ahead than they had been before and all this was going to happen again day after tomorrow.

They came to the end of the hall and a large room opened up before them. The light outside had completely faded as day turned into night and the room beyond was too dark to see. She glanced at Sherlock and motioned for him to go one way and her the other, indicating that they needed to find a light switch.

Slowly she made her way to the left. Shining her torch along the wall, but always keeping a look out for anyone who might be in there with her. A moment later the overhead lights flickered on. She glanced at the detective a few feet down the other end of the wall then she turned her attention to the empty room. No…not empty. There was someone lying on the ground in the center of the room. She raced over to the…not human…Krillitane in his true form, which was similar to the bat creatures she encountered with the Doctor. When she drew closer she could smell the decay and she didn't have to get a good look to tell he was dead. She stopped, her hand flying to her mouth as her eyes misted over. They hadn't been able to save him. If Collins had done his job this wouldn't have happened. Her sadness at the loss turned to anger that someone else had been hurt because of that idiot's incompetence.

"Bastard," she whispered.

Sherlock noticed the body on the floor after he turned on the lights. He could smell the decomposition in the air, had been able to smell it long before he turned on the lights, but he didn't stop Rose as she raced toward the victim. He was more focused on the room. Large, empty, no machinery. There were two staircases leading to a cement balcony of sorts. One set of stairs on his left and the other on his right. The balcony ran the length of both walls and across the back. There was more rubbish in this room, empty cans, Styrofoam cups…he picked one up and sniffed it…beer, empty bottles, crumpled papers…he picked up the closest one and un-crumpled it, a receipt for fifty pounds…he picked up another, twenty pounds, and a third that was for seventy. It didn't say what the receipts were for, the only indication was a single or double hole punch but he had a very good guess. Gambling. Bets. He moved around the room, looking at the upstairs. What had it looked like that night? The upstairs filled with people looking down, but looking down at what?

He hurried over to the closest set of stairs and climbed up, imagining an entire crowd of people up there with him, drinking, most, if not all with receipts in their hands, bets. They were all looking down. He walked over to the edge, taking in the scene below. Rose stood a few feet from the body, bat-like, only much larger. From his vantage point he could see at least two other bodies under the stairs on the other side of the room, men, their heads just visible. Oh! He turned his gaze back to the Krillitane. Oh! He clapped his hands together as the pieces fell into place.

"It was a fight," he said, glancing at Rose, standing below him.

"A fight?" she asked.

He hurried back down the stairs.

"The kidnappers take them on the fifth of every month because that's when the fights are scheduled, always at a different location, they probably have some way to get the addresses to their _guests_. Email or text most likely. People come, place their bets, the person in charge makes a great deal of money in the process."

"But…wait. Who fights them? If they're only taking one alien-"

"The crowd, he probably offers a purse to the winner and if there's no winner-"

"He keeps that too," she finished. "I'm going to kill him."

The venom in her voice gave him pause. He hadn't known her for very long, but he would've never expected the sort of anger that he heard in her words.

"Who?"

"Collins," she snapped. "This is on him. They're dead because he couldn't pull his head out of his arse long enough to do his job."

_They're Collins' cases,_ her words came back to him. Then at the Sontaran Section Collins had commented about Rose getting aliens confused with people. _They know more than they should. _

"You're right," he said, drawing her eyes to his. "This is on him, but not due to incompetence. You said it yourself. The kidnappers know more than they should. Where would they get that information?"

Rose's eyes widened. Collins was feeding information to the kidnappers. That's why he didn't check the camera feed. That's why he didn't link the disappearances. She pulled out her phone.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Calling my dad. If Collins is involved they need to bring him in," she said, but he stopped her by taking her hand, the one holding her phone.

"You said he has family in the government. I know a thing or two about that. If you bring him in now the kidnappers won't stop. They'll either keep going on their own or find someone else. Collins isn't the one in charge. I've met him, he's an idiot. This was orchestrated by someone much more intelligent. They'd have to be to pull this off not once, but three times. If you bring Collins in you'll get nowhere. The whole thing will be washed under the bridge by his family or tied up in a legal dispute. The only way we're going to stop this is to do things off the books. What do you say?" he asked.

She grinned.

"I never did the like the books." He returned her smile. "I'll send for the cleaners and then we'll grab something to eat while you fill me in."

"Fill you in?" he asked while she texted Pete to send the cleaners in.

"On your plan," she said, smiling as she took his arm. "If there's one thing I know to be constant, it's that Sherlock Holmes always has a plan."

He glanced at her, smiling.

"Madison?" he asked.

It took her a minute to realize what he was asking. She grinned, resting her head against his arm as they walked.

"Are we on that again?" she inquired.

"We never left," he replied, making her laugh. "Is that a no?"

"That's a no."

Rose was sorry that Sherlock had to leave his friends and his life to become trapped on a parallel world, but at the same time she was glad it had been her parallel world. She spent five years pretending everything was all right, to the point that she actually believed it, but at that moment she realized it'd been a lie. A way to cover up the hole that had been left inside of her after the Doctor left, but with Sherlock that hole was beginning to fill and for the first time in a long time she didn't have to pretend.

Two hours later Rose stepped out of her room in a pair of blue flannel shorts and a tank top after showering and blow drying her hair. She never could stand going to bed with wet hair, not that she was going to do much sleeping anytime soon.

On the ride back Sherlock explained that their best bet was to get the information they needed from Collins' phone, but there were only two ways to do that. One was to steal it and Sherlock admitted to being an excellent pickpocket, but that might make Collins suspicious and they didn't need that. The other way, her suggestion, was to get close enough to use a small device Torchwood developed that would enable the transfer of data from one device to another, from Collins' phone to the one Sherlock picked up at Torchwood.

She would have to be the one to do it since Sherlock made a less than pleasant impression. An idea he wasn't entirely fond of, but he went along with because they needed the information and she was right, Collins would be far less suspicious of her.

Now, all they needed was a place both she and Collins could accidentally run into each other. Torchwood was out of the question for a number of reasons, the main one being he'd called in for a few days sick leave for his broken wrist, which they all knew wasn't broken. She thought about going to his house, but she'd never been there and popping in for a surprise visit might put him on guard. The more of an accident it seemed the less suspicious he'd be, which would make it easier for her to get hold of his phone.

Rose stepped into the kitchen and made two cups of coffee, making his like hers automatically, which was also how the Doctor used to take it. After traveling with him and Jack she'd gotten used to the bitter stuff and it helped keep her alert while she went over cases when it was late.

She picked up the cups and returned to the living room as Sherlock sat back. She took a seat next to him and handed his cup over.

"So?" she asked, catching his gaze.

"There's a function tomorrow evening hosted by Agatha Collins," Sherlock explained.

"She's his aunt."

"It appears to be an art auction for charity."

"An art auction?"

"It's more of a party really, with posh guests wondering around, drinking champagne, if they see a piece they like they make a bid by writing down the amount and handing it to one of the waiters who then takes it to the auctioneer. At the end of the evening the auctioneer tags the art pieces with the winning bids."

"And Collins is going to be there?"

"He's on the guest list. Do you think you can get in?"

"I might be an alien crime scene investigator, but I'm also the Vitex heiress. An invite to a posh art function for charity. I'm fairly sure I can manage that," she replied, with a grin.

"Vitex heiress?" he asked, this being the first time he'd heard about her family's financial standing. Though he'd guessed from the way her parents dressed.

She laughed.

"It's this weird health drink my dad invented. Both of them actually, only back in my original universe it didn't take off, but here it made him loads. They live in a huge house on the other side of town."

"But you don't live like them?"

"I don't need all that. That's never been important to me, but my mum's happy with it and that's good."

"But it's not you?"

"Nope, never has been. Good job my mum doesn't listen though."

"What do you mean?"

"Posh party. I don't think jeans and jumpers will do the trick, but I've got some dresses she forced on me in the closet. One of those should do the job."

She picked up her mobile and texted Pete about the art auction.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked.

"Getting an invite."

Pete wanted to know why, which made her grin. Her dad knew her too well. Posh parties weren't really her thing, she didn't mind the ones her mum threw, but most of the other ones were boring as hell and she avoided them like the plague. She told him it was work related, not wanting to go into detail. He didn't ask, probably thought it had to do with the disappearances, which it did, but she couldn't tell him about Collins yet.

"He'll get it," she said, setting her phone down. "Now, what do we do until then?"

"I'm going to turn you into the world's second best pickpocket," he replied with a grin.

"Second best?" she asked with a smile.

"I'm the first." He stood up and stepped away from the couch. She followed. Then he pulled out his phone. "Now, we'll begin with the jacket pocket. It's the easiest." He showed her the mobile and then slid it into his right jacket pocket.

"Okay, what do I do?"

"Distract me."

She raised her brow.

"Sorry?"

"That's how it works," he explained and in the next moment he bumped into her as if he was going to pass her. Then he circled her and stopped, catching her gaze as he held out his hand. "I'll have my phone back."

"You're…phone?" she asked.

"Your left pocket."

She reached into the pocket of her shorts, her hand closing around his phone. Then she pulled it out. How the hell had he done that? She grinned handing it over. He returned her smile.

"You're good."

"I know."

"So, distraction then?"

"It could be as simple as bumping into them. It all depends on your mark," he explained.

"So, my mark's an arrogant sod whose life ambition has been to get me in bed." She smiled. "Got it."

Sherlock knew it would take a few hours at least before she was semi passable, but it was the safest way. He slid his mobile into his jacket pocket and grinned.

"Distract me."

He expected her to try the bump technique he showed her. What he didn't expect was what she did next. She stepped into his space and glanced over him then she caught his gaze running her finger down his chest. His eyes widened for a moment and she smiled, but not one he'd ever seen and it was quite…distracting.

"Hello," she said, her voice a bit husky.

He swallowed, his eyes darting between hers while his mind tried to work out exactly what was going on. It was game, wasn't it? A distraction. That's what he told her to do.

She ran her finger along his jaw line, scattering every thought in his mind. He felt his breath catch.

"There's something I want to tell you, but first I've got to visit the ladies'," she said and then rose up on her tiptoes, drawing as close to his ear as she could, pressing her body against his. "You won't go anywhere will you?"

Her breath brushed against his ear and he couldn't think, he couldn't even breathe.

A moment later she stepped back and all he could do was stare at her. His entire being focused on her. She smiled, her normal smile and it took him a moment to realize his mobile was in her hand.

"So?" she asked.

"Um…" his mind seemed to be on holiday for the moment.

"Good, yeah?"

"Good…" he shook his head and blinked. "Yes. Good. Um…Job. Yes."

She laughed and handed his mobile back.

"If it worked on you it'll definitely work on him."

"I'm sorry?"

"We're friends and if it worked on you it should be easy to fool some bloke who's already interested in me."

"Friends. Yes. Right." He cleared his throat, sliding his phone back into his pocket. "I don't think you need any more practice after that display."

"I'm going to get some sleep then," she said, crossing the room to her door. "Night."

"Goodnight," he returned before heading back to the sofa.

_Friends. _That's what they were. That's all they were. He cared about her, but only as a friend. He wouldn't allow his body to be ruled by something as trivial as hormones. That sort of thing didn't happen to him. There had been minor incidences in the past. Slight weaknesses, but nothing like what he felt only minutes ago. He rubbed his hands over his face. He had to regain control.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	13. Case Of The Eccentric Bookie Part 3

First I want to thank all my guest commenters. Next, just a warning, you may find that this chapter climbs up toward the high end of the T rating...or you may not...just saying. :)

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Sherlock glanced at his watch impatiently. The art auction would begin in less than ten minutes. Not that they needed to be there on time. It was more of a party, really and they didn't close the doors at a certain time, but the sooner she arrived the sooner they would have the information they needed and tomorrow was the fifth.

"You realize the function begins this evening?" he called.

She'd been _getting ready _as she put it, for nearly two hours. The longest it had ever taken him was twenty minutes and that had been because there was a body suit involved and the zipper caught.

He sighed in frustration and crossed the room to knock on her bedroom door, but at that moment she opened it and he froze two feet away from her. She was wearing a long red dress that clung to her body, silk, that was the fabric. There was a slit on the left side that stopped halfway up her thigh. The front dipped nearly to her navel exposing most of the skin on her upper body. Black heels, nine inch, adorned her feet with straps that wound their way up her ankles. Her hair had been curled and hung loosely around her shoulders. A diamond bracelet and necklace topped off her outfit.

His mouth dropped open slightly and he knew he was staring, but he couldn't take his eyes from her as his mind replayed her pickpocketing act from the night before. The touch of her finger against his jaw, the brush of her breath against his ear.

"What?" Rose asked, noting the way Sherlock was staring at her. _God, I've gone overboard. _"Is it the dress? It's the dress, isn't it?"

She almost went with the black one, but she wanted to distract Collins and, although she didn't normally wear things like that and she really couldn't believe her mum had picked it out…that was just weird, but she knew this would definitely keep the idiot's mind off what she doing when she took his phone.

"The…um…" Sherlock tried, but his voice came out low and he had to swallow, his mind feeling as if it were on slow motion.

"The shoes?" she asked, glancing down at her feet, which brought her leg out of the slit.

Sherlock's eyes widened and he blinked, swallowing again.

"I-it's um…you look…um…"

"What? What is it?" she asked in concern.

He closed his eyes and took a breath, knowing he couldn't regain control of himself until he was no longer looking at her. He opened his eyes and focused on hers.

"You look…good," he finally managed.

"Good?" she asked, as if she wasn't sure what he meant by that.

"Yes, very good. Are we off then?"

He hurried into his coat and then picked up a long, white coat hanging on the rack by the door. He helped her into it.

"Thanks," she said, smiling at him.

He returned her smile, but always keeping eye contact. As they walked down the hall to the lift he tried to work out exactly what came over him. He'd seen women dressed in far less and it never got to him, not like that.

Twelve minutes later Sherlock parked near the gallery that was being used to host the event. Rose opened the glove box and pulled out a plastic bag containing two earpieces, different than the ones they used the other day, smaller, and a small triangular device.

"First," she said, handing him one of the earpieces, "put this in. They're newer than the other ones. I like the old ones. These…bring up some bad memories, but my hair's only going to hide so much."

She put her earpiece in and grinned. It was completely concealed by her falling golden locks. Sherlock put his in.

"When I leave the car give it a tap," she continued, demonstrating, but not actually touching hers. "That'll turn it on and we'll be able to hear each other. They filter out a lot of the background so you'll hear me and anyone in my direct vicinity."

"And that?" he asked, indicating the triangular device.

"This is how we're going to get the information off his phone. It's new, more than new actually." He raised his brow. "Technically, I'm not supposed to have one, probably not even supposed to know about them, but that's one of the perks of having friends in the tech department. Mike-"

"Who's Mike?" he asked.

"A friend. Like I said he's a tech. He told me about it last week when we went to lunch. I thought it might-"

"You went to lunch with Mike?"

"I go to lunch with a lot of my friends. Why?"

"You haven't mentioned him before."

She laughed.

"He's just a friend, not a close friend, just…you know a friend."

"What's the difference?"

"Mike's one of those friends you see a lot, at work or somewhere like that and sometimes you grab lunch or a coffee and talk, not someone who comes over and hangs out watching movies with you or someone you'd call when you had a bad day and needed cheering up."

"Do you have many friends?"

She laughed again.

"Like Mike?" He nodded. "Loads."

"And close friends?"

A bit of sadness crept into her eyes and he regretted his question.

"Two, but they're not here."

They were in her home universe. The people she left behind. He reached out and set his hand over hers.

"I'm sorry."

"Its fine," she said, but he could tell that it was anything, but fine. It's how he felt about John and Mary. "Anyway," she continued, indicating the device. He pulled his hand back. "It's been programmed to your phone so the information from Collins' phone will transfer directly to yours."

Then she slid the device in her pocketbook and opened the door. He watched her pause after a few steps and tap her earpiece. He did the same.

"Can you hear me all right?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied. "I can hear you."

"Good."

He watched her walk the rest of the way inside, but his mind was on other things. He tried to work out exactly why her mention of another man had bothered him. That never happened before, but the moment she mentioned Mike he needed to know who the man was and, more importantly, who he was to her.

Rose checked her coat at the closet. The girl handed her a receipt, which she slid into her pocketbook before walking into the auction room. She glanced around. Sherlock was right. It was more of a party. A waiter handed her a glass of champagne. She smiled and thanked him.

"I'm in," she whispered after the waiter walked away.

"Okay," Sherlock said into her ear.

She wondered around the room, gazing at the paintings and other pieces of art. Some of the pieces were all right, but some were…she paused, one painting in particular catching her eye. She grinned, pulling out her phone.

"I'm going to send you something," she whispered.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"Just give me…" He heard the soft click of her camera phone. "There."

A moment later he received her attached image. He looked at it, turning the phone in his hands.

"What is it?"

"I was hoping you could tell me."

It was a painting obviously.

"I'm not much of an art coinsure."

"It's a cat, yeah?"

"A cat?"

She laughed.

"Guess it's just me then." She caught movement to her left and glanced in that direction. Collins had spotted her and was walking over to join her. "He's here."

"Let him approach you."

"I don't think that's going to be a problem."

"Rose," Collins said, drawing up next to her. "You look…" His eyes roved up and down her body and she had to resist the urge to toss her champagne in his face. "Very nice."

"Thank you," she said, even though it was the last thing she wanted to say.

She smiled.

"I've never seen you dress so-"

Sherlock's brows drew together as he imagined Collins looking over Rose in that dress. His hand involuntarily balled into a fist. He glanced at it. It was a case. Pretense. His hand unclenched as he regained control of his emotions, not entirely sure how she managed to provoke emotional responses from him when she wasn't even near him.

"What? This?" she laughed. "Yeah, I'm trying it out, not really sure."

"I am," Collins said.

He seemed unable to decide whether to focus on her chest, her hips or the slit in her dress and again she had to stop herself from throwing her drink at him. She loathed being in his company, especially when she felt as exposed as she did in that dress.

"Here alone?" Collins continued.

"Couldn't find anyone to come along," she said, shifting slightly and giving him a grin.

"What about your partner?"

_Oh, I'm right here. _

"I don't know where he is. We just work together."

Good job she wasn't prone to lying. She seemed very skilled at it. Of course, Sherlock could hear the subtle differences in the sound of her voice. Ones that told him she was lying. Collins was too much of an idiot and far too distracted by what she was wearing to pay attention to that.

"Good," Collins said. "What are you doing here anyway? I've never seen you at one of these before."

"Yeah, it's not really my cup of tea," Rose agreed, "but my mum insists that I attend at least three functions a year. Something about my responsibility as the Vitex heiress and all. I'm glad I ran into you though."

"You are?" he asked.

His eyes finally leaving her body long enough to connect with hers. She took that opportunity and stepped closer.

"Yes," she whispered.

With her heels they were the same height. She trailed her finger down his chest, resisting the temptation to shiver in disgust. He grinned. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you."

"What's that?" he asked.

She leaned against him, dipping her hand into his jacket pocket. Her fingers closed around his phone.

"Will you wait here while I find the ladies'?" She leaned back and smiled. "I'll be right back. Promise."

"Of course."

"Hold onto this for me, would you?" she asked, handing her drink over.

He took it and she hurried across the room. Then she stepped through the door to the loo. Once she was inside she opened her pocketbook and pulled out the device.

"I've got it," she whispered. "I'm sending the information now."

She attached the device to the back of Collins' phone. A moment later Sherlock confirmed that it was working.

"It's coming through," he said.

"As soon as we get back to the flat I'm taking a bath," she replied with a disgusted shiver.

"I thought you showered before we left," Sherlock said, going over some of the information as it came through.

"You try having Collins' eyes all over you and see if you don't want to shower afterwards," she teased, the humor in her voice drew a laugh from him.

"I'll take your word."

"Are you sure? I have another dress, bit of make-up." She heard Sherlock's phone chime. "That means it's done."

"Make sure he doesn't notice when you return it."

"The last thing he's going to think about his my hand in his pocket."

"Sure about that?"

"Ew…thanks for that. Now I need a bath and a memory wipe," she replied, but couldn't help laughing.

She opened the door, palming his mobile with her pocketbook. She made her way back across the room. Collins was still standing in the same place. She smiled as she drew up to him.

"Sorry about that," she said. "Probably had a bit too much champagne."

"No worries." He handed her glass back as she drew near, but she pretended to trip, bumping into him and as she did so she slid his mobile back into his pocket.

Unfortunately some of the champagne in her glass, the one he was holding, sloshed onto the top of her dress.

"I'm so sorry," she apologized. "A couple glasses of champagne and I'm rubbish in heels."

"Don't worry about it, perfectly fine," Collins said, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and proceeding to…yeah, that wasn't going to happen.

She took his handkerchief.

"Thank you," she said, giving him a smile so he wouldn't get upset and proceeded to wipe the spilled drink off her dress.

"Luckily I had them top it off."

He handed her drink over and she took it with a smile.

"That was sweet of you."

She handed his handkerchief back, but he waved her hand away.

"You should keep that, just in case," he said.

She gave him another smile as she put it into her pocketbook.

"So," he continued, catching her gaze. "There was something you wanted to tell me?"

"Oh," she glanced around the room, trying to find a way out of this situation. She didn't want to be rude, well, she did, but she didn't want him to suspect anything. "Um…" She took a drink of her champagne and then another and then downed the rest of it as she tried to come up with an exit strategy. "I…um…you know I can't remember now," she lied.

"That's all right. I'm sure you'll remember."

"Yeah, I'm sure I'll…" The room swam, making her stumble. "Oooh, that's weird."

Collins caught her.

"You all right?" he asked.

Sherlock had been going over the information in Collins' phone, but at the man's question he paused.

"Rose?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied, but he couldn't be sure if she was talking to him or Collins.

"What happened?" Sherlock inquired.

"Just…I don't know…the room's gone all swimmy."

Her voice sounded a bit slurred.

"Swimmy?" the detective asked.

"I think you've had a bit too much to drink," Collins said.

"Yeah, must have. I only thought I had one glass, but yeah, must have."

One glass wouldn't do that. She had wine in her house so this wasn't the first time she drank and even then the effects took a bit, not like that, which meant there was something other than alcohol in her system. In one move Sherlock slid his mobile into his pocket and opened the door, getting out.

"We'll get you home," Collins replied.

"Home, yeah," she agreed.

Sherlock hurried up the steps. There was a man at the door. The detective didn't have an invitation, but he did have a Torchwood ID badge. He hoped Rose was right about it being a key that would open almost anything. He pulled the ID out as he reached the doorman.

"William Holmes," he said, using the name he loathed, but he couldn't very well say Sherlock, not after finding out how popular those stories were. "Director Tyler sent me to collect his daughter. There's been an emergency."

The doorman opened the door and stepped aside. Sherlock raced inside just in time to watch Collins helping Rose into her coat, being quite too free with his hands. Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he closed the distance between them.

Collins caught sight of him as he drew close and released Rose. She stumbled a bit before Sherlock caught her.

"I thought I told you to stay away from her," Sherlock snapped.

Collins glanced at the coat check girl, which seemed to give him courage.

"What is she? Your girlfriend?" Collins asked.

"We're…" the detective glanced at the woman leaning against him who, at the moment, was smiling like a loon. "Friends."

"You realize friends see other friends."

"I know what you did to her," Sherlock growled, lifting Rose over his shoulder, unceremoniously. "This isn't over."

Then he turned and walked out of the gallery holding her in place with one arm wrapped around her legs.

"Sherlock?" she asked as he hurried down the steps.

"Yes?" he inquired.

"I'm upside down. Why am I upside down?"

"Because it's faster."

"Okay."

He reached the car and opened the passenger side. Then he carefully, dumped her into the seat. She laughed.

"That was fun," she said. "Can we do it again?"

"No," he replied, closing the door.

He walked around the car and climbed in the driver's side and a few moments later they were headed down the road.

"How could I get drunk off one glass of cham…champ…that bubbly stuff?" she asked, and then laughed.

"You're not drunk. You're drugged."

"I don't do drugs."

"You do now," he replied, wanting nothing more than to strangle the life out of Collins.

"Oh, my god," she swung her head around and tried to focus on him. He glanced at her. "Don't tell my mum. She'll kill me."

She was so serious that it made him smile.

"It wasn't your fault. Collins slipped it into your champagne."

"Oh," she replied, flopping back in her seat and giggling. "You mean he slipped me a mick, micks, mickity, mick, mick, Mickey."

"Yes." Sherlock glanced at her, raising his brow. "Right."

"I miss Mickey, my Micks."

"Mickey?"

"We grew up together on the estates. He was my best…friend. He's gone now. Him and the Doctor and the other one…the human one. He died, but that wasn't his fault. He didn't know. No one knew that would happen. It was horrible, but I stayed with him, you know, like I did with my dad."

There were two Doctors? One was human and the other wasn't. The human Doctor died and she was with him the same way she'd been with her father, but she mentioned that she was young when he died. Had she watched her father die when she was just a child?

"Your father?"

"When he died. The Doctor took me to see him because I asked and I tried to save him, but it didn't work. He still died, but I stayed with him and then he left me."

Wait. Had she known the Doctor when she was a child? If he took her to see her father, but her father died when she was young that must be the case. Only, that didn't fit with the way she spoke about him.

"Who left you?" he asked.

"All of them," she sighed, gazing out the window. "Mickey, the Doctor, the other Doctor, but he died so I guess he didn't mean to and Mickey, he wouldn't have stayed behind if he knew, or maybe he would have. I don't know, but the Doctor left, even though he promised he wouldn't do that." She felt warm, really warm. "Why's the heater so high?"

She felt alone. He could hear that in her words and the sound of her voice. As if everyone she cared about had left her on her own.

"The heat's not on," he replied, glancing at her.

"It's really warm in here," she said, sitting up a bit and trying to remove her coat.

Sherlock touched her hand. It was warmer than it ought to be, which meant that whatever Collins gave her was having negative effects. He turned into the parking garage and found a space close to the lift.

Then he turned the car off and climbed out, racing around to the other side and opening the door. She had removed her coat and was lying back gazing at the ceiling. He felt her cheek, which made her laugh. She was much warmer.

"If I knew what he gave you I'd-"

"It's right there," she interrupted, craning her neck to look at the top of her dress. "That…thing…idiot…you know, spilled my drink…stuff on my dress, did you see?" She glanced at him, grinning. "I think I got it all with his hand…napkin thing. It's in here," she said, shoving her pocketbook at him.

Sherlock took her pocketbook and opened it. He pulled the handkerchief out. It was still damp. He sniffed it. Champagne and…something. His eyes widened. _Idiot! _He stuffed the handkerchief and her pocketbook into his jacket pocket. Then he lifted her out of the car and over his shoulder again. He kicked the door closed and hurried to the lift.

Collins wasn't a chemist and neither was the moron who mixed the drugs for him. Her body temperature was going to continue to climb until it killed her unless he got it down, fast. There wasn't time for him to mix anything and calling an ambulance would take too long. Over eight minutes and she had six, maybe. There was only one thing he could do and she wasn't going to like it.

"I think I'm upside down again," she said.

"You are," he replied as the lift doors slid open.

He stepped inside and the doors slid shut.

"This isn't as fun as I remember."

"That's because your body temperature is too high."

"Okay."

When the doors opened he hurried down the hall, pulling the keys from his pocket. He unlocked the door and threw it open, kicking it closed as he entered. He jogged through her bedroom and into her bath. He noticed earlier, when he confiscated her laptop, that she had a separate tub and shower.

He raced to the shower and turned on the cold water. He could feel her skin heating up through her dress. She hadn't said anything since the lift and that wasn't normal for her. If there's one thing he'd learned about Rose Tyler in the few days he'd known her it was that she could talk for England.

He pulled her off his shoulder. She was limp. He felt her cheek. A hundred and four, maybe five.

"Rose?" he called, but she didn't respond. "Rose." He slapped her cheek a bit more than lightly. Her eyes opened a little and she mumbled something incoherent. He turned her around and hooked his arms around her chest then he stepped into the shower with her. The minute the cold water hit her she screamed and flailed around a bit, but he held her in place.

"No!" she finally managed, trying to pull away.

"You have to stay here," he insisted.

She tried to reach for the shower door, but he held her far enough away that she couldn't quite manage it. He could feel her body temperature lowering through the soaked fabric between them, which meant she was coming out of it. A moment later she proved his theory by trying to twist out of his hold. She got as far as turning around so she was facing him.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" she yelled, glaring at him.

"Keeping you alive. That all right with you?" he asked while she tried to push him away, but he tightened his hold around her.

"By trying to freeze me to death?"

"By lowering your body temperature," he replied.

Rose stopped struggling. The shock of waking up in a cold shower draining away as his words sank in. Something must have happened, but her mind felt too numb to work it out.

"I think its down," she said, shivering from the cold.

"Another two minutes."

Two minutes? She'd freeze by then. She wrapped her arms around him, involuntarily, resting her cheek against his shoulder in an attempt to find some warmth.

"Why?" she asked.

Sherlock knew she was cold. He could feel her shivering, but they had to wait to full five minutes. A bathtub full of ice would've done the job faster, but it could've stopped her heart and he didn't want to chance that.

"Collins slipped drugs into your champagne and they were mixed by a shoddy chemist. I had to bring your temperature down otherwise it would've killed you."

"I'm going to kill him and don't you dare try to stop me," she insisted, making him smile.

"Not if I kill him first."

"Dibbs," she said into his chest and he wasn't sure he heard her right.

"Sorry?" he asked.

"I called dibbs, means I get to kill him first."

"Dibbs?" he asked.

She leaned back a bit, catching his gaze.

"Yeah, Mickey and I used to call it all the time. Last chip, last piece of pizza. Whoever calls it first gets it and I call dibbs on killing Collins." She grinned and he couldn't help smiling. She leaned back against him and shivered. "Can you turn the bloody shower off now?"

He reached out and turned the shower off, releasing his hold on her, but a moment later she stumbled. He looped his arm around her waist to keep her from falling.

"That was weird," she said, leaning against him. "I felt lightheaded there for a minute."

"It's the shock from the cold and you've still got drugs in your system."

"I thought you got rid of them."

"With a cold shower?"

"I've never taken drugs, how would I know?"

He helped her over to the counter.

"Lean on the counter while I grab your robe." She did as he instructed. He grabbed her robe off the back of the door and wrapped it around her shoulders. Then he helped her into her room and sat her on the side of her bed. "Can you manage your shoes while I change into something a bit less wet?"

She grinned.

"Yeah, think I can manage shoes."

He hurried into his room and changed out of his wet clothing, pulling his pajamas on. It was late and he could go over the contents in his phone without getting dressed. A thump from Rose's room sent him racing across the living room. Her bed was empty.

"Rose?" he called.

"I was wrong," she said from the other side of the bed.

He walked toward the sound of her voice and found her sitting on the floor. One shoe on, one shoe off. She stared up at him grinning.

He laughed.

"What happened?" he asked.

"I got the one off, but when I bent down to take get the other one…I don't know…I just kept going. I can get it from here though."

She unbuckled the other strap and slid her foot out of the shoe. Her robe had fallen off. He picked it up and helped her into it. Then he helped her lay down on the bed, but when he went to stand up she took his hand and caught his gaze.

"Stay."

"I'm sorry?" he asked, not entirely sure what she meant, well, he thought he knew what she meant, but she didn't really mean what he thought she meant…did she?

"I still feel kind of…weird and I don't want to be alone."

She patted the bed next to her. His eyes darted from the bed to her and he swallowed.

"I…um…"

Work…the phone…the contents in the phone…the information…She'd understand.

"Please?" she asked, drawing her lips into a pout.

One look and the word no was completely stripped from his vocabulary.

"Sure," he agreed.

She released him and he walked around the bed, climbing in on the other side. He made sure there was a good distance between them, but in the next moment she scooted closer and before he knew what she was doing her cheek was resting against his shoulder, his arm wrapped around her shoulder and her other hand on his chest.

"Thank you," she said.

"For?" he asked, not entirely sure what she was thanking him for.

"Saving my life."

"Um…you're welcome."

She laughed softly.

"Guess I'm still jeopardy friendly."

"Jeopardy what?" he asked, not understanding her use of the word.

"That's what my friend used to call me," she explained, absentmindedly swirling patterns on Sherlock's t-shirt. "Because I'd always get myself in the middle of trouble, but I've always been curious. Most people hear a noise they run. I hear a noise I have to find out what it is, just in case."

He took her hand with his free one to stop her roving finger because it was doing things that were best not done.

"Just in case?" he asked and then cleared his throat as his voice had come out a few octaves too low.

She laced her fingers through his.

"Just in case someone was hurt."

He felt her head shift and he glanced at her. She smiled and he returned her smile.

"You still miss them," he said, a statement, not a question.

"Don't you?" she asked.

He turned his gaze up to the ceiling. Of course he missed them. John, Mary, all of them. He sighed.

"Would you go back, if you could?" he asked, after a few moments of silence.

"No," she replied.

He returned his gaze to her. She shifted catching his eye.

"No?" he asked.

"Everyone I cared about has moved on. There's nothing left for me there."

"What about Mickey? You mentioned him in the car. You said he was your best friend."

"He was, but he has his own life now and…he deserves better."

"Better?" he asked, trying to work out how she could think that she wasn't good enough for someone…anyone.

"He was my boyfriend and I was…a shoddy girlfriend. He wanted a normal girlfriend. One who was home every night and would go to the pub and watch the games with him, but I couldn't be that person."

So, she felt as if she wasn't good enough because she wasn't ordinary.

"And the Doctor?" he asked.

She shifted and he heard her sigh.

"He doesn't need me anymore," she replied and he could hear the pain in her voice.

"I'm sorry," he said, his hand involuntarily tightening its hold around her shoulder.

"It's fine."

Which it wasn't.

"I think we both know that it's not."

"I miss them, sometimes terribly, but I wouldn't go back."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not a nineteen year old shop girl anymore. It's not what I want."

She wasn't the same person she'd been when she lived in there and he could understand that. He wasn't the same person he'd been before he met John, nor was he the same as he'd been before Mary. He'd changed even more after killing Magnussen. He could see that now. Instead of the sociopath who put everyone's life ahead of his own he'd put his life ahead of two of the people he cared about most.

"What do you want?" he asked as his thumb slid back and forth over the top of her hand that was clasped in his.

"I don't know." She paused and he could hear her mind thinking. "Someone who's there, who's always there and I don't have to worry that he'll pop off and not come back for a year or five years or ten. Someone who's half mad, but doesn't mind sharing a flat. Someone who won't make decisions for me because he thinks it's safer to send me away or drop me off somewhere. Someone who won't freak out because there's a tentacle in my icebox and likes chips and dancing and running for his life. Someone who's not ordinary, who'll hold my hand and let me hold his." She sighed, but it turned into a yawn. "That's all I want."

She grew quiet after that and a few minutes later he felt her breathing settle into sleep. He lay there with his arm around her shoulder, his other hand clasped with hers, listening to the sound of her breathing. He smiled. Rose Tyler was quite possibly the most remarkable woman he'd ever met. She reminded him of both John and Mary, but she was also entirely unique. A woman who would follow a sound because her first instinct was to help, clever enough to solve a homicide, and could make him of all people laugh. It was her remarkable qualities that allowed him to see past the deductions. To see the woman. That hadn't happened before because he hadn't met her yet. Like John drawn to Mary, he was drawn to Rose because of who she was. She wasn't like everyone else, she wasn't ordinary. She was unique. He didn't deserve her, but it was far too late for that. He leaned his cheek against the top of her head and closed his eyes.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are most welcome. :)**


	14. Case Of The Eccentric Bookie Part 4

Rose opened her eyes and glanced at the clock. 9:47 a.m. _The case! _She sat up and immediately regretted it as pain lanced through her temples and a wave of nausea passed through her body. She moaned, gabbing the sides of her head and would've flopped back down if not for fear that her brain might actually explode. It felt like it wanted to.

She climbed out of bed wanting nothing more than to climb back in, but they had a case and if they didn't find whoever was taking people someone would go missing again. She sighed, glancing down at her ruined dress under the robe. Then she made her way into the bathroom to take a shower.

Sherlock heard her movements from the kitchen. He turned the stove on and found a pot. Then added the tomato juice and the compound he mixed earlier. He dipped his finger in and tasted it. The tomato juice wasn't quite masking the bitterness. He opened the refrigerator and grabbed a lemon from the drawer. Then he pulled a knife from the holder and cut it in half, and squeezed some of the juice into the pan. Another taste and the bitter flavor was completely masked.

He put the beaker back on the table and turned off the Bunsen burner. He felt much more at home after unpacking some of his things, even if his sole reason was to mix a compound that would take away the ill effects of the drugs that had been in her system. Not long ago he would've told himself the sole purpose of making her feel better was because of the case they were on and part of it was, but he also wanted to…make her feel better. A few pills could do the job, but he wanted to be the one responsible.

He pulled a glass down from the cupboard and filled it with the red liquid. It was warm, but not hot. Had to be warm or there would be a chalky aftertaste. A few minutes later she entered the kitchen, freshly showered, wearing a powder blue tank top, jeans, and trainers. Her hair was damp. She didn't appear to notice the mess on the table as she sat down and groaned, folding her arms in front of her and resting her head on them.

"I'm dying," she moaned.

He couldn't help smiling. She wasn't dying, of course, but she wasn't feeling well either.

"Drink this," Sherlock said.

Rose sat up, slowly. He was handing her a glass of something that looked like tomato juice. She took his offering, staring at it. The glass felt warm and it was making a strange hissing sound, which probably wasn't very loud, but it sounded loud to her.

"What is it?" she asked, knowing it wasn't just tomato juice.

"It'll make you feel better."

She eyed it, but her head continued to throb. That coupled with the fact that she knew Sherlock wouldn't give her anything harmful made her decision for her. She downed the entire glass, expecting to gag at the taste, but it tasted like tomato juice with a hint of…lemon?

"Thanks," she said, handing the glass back and then laying her head back down.

"You didn't argue," he said.

"Sorry?" she asked without lifting her head.

"Whenever I make a compound for John he always wants to know what's in it and argues about whether he should take it or not. Although that didn't really start until after the wedding when I mentioned that I once gave him something that made him miss an entire Wednesday."

She started to giggle and then stopped.

"Don't," she said.

"Sorry?" he inquired, not entirely sure what he'd done.

"Don't make me laugh while my head still hurts."

"That wasn't my intention."

She turned her head to the side, resting her cheek on her hands to gaze up at him. He stared into her hazel eyes intently.

"I trust you."

She what? Trusted him? People had trusted him in the past with cases, but that was because they knew of his reputation and the fact that he was a genius, but this was different. John, of course, trusted Sherlock with his life and Mary's life and with secrets, but the trust Rose spoke of was similar and yet all encompassing. She trusted him completely…and that fact surprised him.

"Why?" he asked, needing to know.

She shrugged and gave him a smile.

"I just do." _I just do? _That wasn't an answer. "We wouldn't be friends if I didn't, but if you make me miss an entire Wednesday it better be for a good reason or you'll be getting a slap."

"He was irritating me," he said, but he couldn't help smiling.

She trusted him and that was…good. Brilliant, but it was also a responsibility, even so he couldn't help feeling…what? Privileged? Special? Something to that effect. She laughed again, drawing his attention.

"I think my head stopped hurting," she said, sitting up.

He glanced at his watch.

"It should've worked by now."

"That's fast."

"I'm an excellent chemist," he replied, giving her a smile that she returned.

"Then I'm even more lucky I have you."

His eyes snapped to hers. Wait. What did she mean by that? Have him? What did that mean?

"So, did we get anything from his phone last night?" she continued before he could ask.

"Phone. Right," he replied, switching gears. He pulled his mobile from his trouser pocket. "He's made quite a few calls to one number in particular. I ran a search and traced the number back."

He handed his phone over. Rose looked at the image of a smiling dark haired man in a business suit. He appeared to be in his late twenties to early thirties, physically fit, good looking.

"Who is he?"

"Daniel Andrelli, thirty-two, he has his fingers in quite a few businesses," Rose handed his phone back and Sherlock brought up one of Mr. Andrelli's businesses, "one in particular being a real-estate business, and they just happen to be selling all of the warehouses where the victims were killed."

He handed his phone over, but she stared at him.

"Wait. All the warehouses?" she asked.

"Right." Sherlock paused. "You were sleeping. Your father phoned with the addresses where the other victims were taken. He had the Communications Department track the van from the other locations after we found the body in that warehouse."

Rose's eyes widened and she seemed…worried.

"What did you tell him?"

"Sorry?" he asked, trying to work out why she was upset.

"About why I was sleeping?" He stared at her. "Last night…you know?"

Oh. Right. Last night. She was afraid Sherlock would tell her father that she'd been slipped drugs and almost died, but then he would've had to tell the man about Collins and the information they'd taken from the idiot's phone, which he had no intention of doing.

"I told him you were in the shower."

She sighed in relief.

"Good. Okay, so three warehouses all owned by that bloke. That's too much of a coincidence for me."

"Precisely. The universe is rarely that lazy," he replied, making her grin.

Every time Rose thought she had Sherlock pegged he surprised her. Either with his brilliance or a simple phrase. She liked that about him. He definitely wasn't predictable.

"Where's that leave us?" she asked.

"His company has three other warehouses on the market. I made a call to find out if they were available to be shown today. One was unavailable, which means-" he began.

"That's the one he'll use tonight," Rose finished, grinning in the same manner she'd done the other night and he almost dropped his phone.

"Um…" he replied and then blinked to get his mind working again. "Yes. Right. Precisely."

He returned her smile as he slid his mobile back into his pocket.

That night Rose sat in her car next to Sherlock as they watched the surveillance footage on the warehouse in question. It was nearly eight and cars had been arriving at the site for the past half hour. Mostly locals, working class sorts, but there had been a few business men, oversees Sherlock assumed from their rental cars and other observations he'd given her.

"What I don't get is why business men would be associating with working class. They don't really travel in the same circles," Rose commented as a particularly posh man climbed out of a limo and walked inside with two men, bodyguards obviously.

"I assumed Andrelli's sole intent was making a profit by staging fights with an unusual twist," Sherlock replied.

"The aliens."

"Precisely, but the fights are to entertain his business associates. Most of the men we've seen are his partners. The others, I assume, are future partners. Ones he hopes to win over with his unusual entertainment."

Rose felt a wave of nausea wash over her, but not like she'd felt when she woke up that morning. This stemmed from revulsion at the idea that someone would hurt another creature for entertainment.

"He makes me sick," she growled.

He caught her gaze and reached out, placing his hand over hers, knowing how much this upset her. She cared, more than anyone he'd ever met, possibly even more than John and that was saying something.

"There are two teams in place. As soon as the van arrives we've got him," he said.

She gave him a half smile. She knew he was trying to make her feel better, but she hated this. The waiting. Especially knowing that somewhere out there someone was being taken from their home or business, dragged into a dark van and driven here so some bastard could impress a bunch of posh business men.

"I know," she replied. The van came into view, pulling up to the warehouse. "It's here."

"Five minutes," Sherlock reminded her.

She inwardly growled, but he was right. They had to make sure the victim was inside. Had to make sure Andrelli couldn't talk his way out of it. Torchwood might be outside the government, but there were still laws, still rules, most of them implemented by her because she didn't want this Torchwood to become like the other one. Unfortunately where there were rules there were loopholes and she was determined to make sure Andrelli was punished.

"It's a Sontaran," she said, when the masked men carried the victim out of the van and into the building. "Why would they take another Sontaran?"

"The Krillitane killed two men, could be Andrelli's associates didn't find human deaths as entertaining."

"Bastards," she hissed. "How long's it been?"

"Thirty-two seconds."

She sighed, leaning back in her chair. Five minutes was going to seem like a week. She had to get her mind off the time.

"So, John…Watson. He's the one you killed that bloke for, yeah?" she asked.

"I'm Sorry?" he inquired, taken back by her unexpected question.

"I need something to take my mind off the time or I'm going to go round the bend," she said, glancing at him.

She was worried about the Sontaran and, at the moment, that's all she could think about.

"In a way, yes." She raised her brow. "Magnussen was a blackmailer. He fancied himself a business man and collected information that he then used as leverage. Because of my brother's position in the British government Magnussen wanted control over him. He viewed me as Mycroft's weakness. I made sure he saw my weaknesses, but the one he chose was the one I overlooked."

"Your friend," she deduced.

"Precisely, but in order to control me he had to find John's weakness and he found that in John's wife, Mary. She'd been hiding her past and once he uncovered it he threatened to use that knowledge against her. I couldn't allow that so I offered a false trade. My intention was to locate the source of his information. Only I…made a mistake. I…underestimated him. I believed his information would be stored on a hard drive or in files, most likely in vaults under his home."

"Where did he keep it?" Rose asked.

Did he mean the information wasn't at Magnusson's home or did he mean it wasn't on files or a hard drive?

"In his mind."

"Sorry…what? He kept all that information in his head?"

"He used the same method I use. The Method of Loci. It's a way to store and recall information through visualization."

"Wait. I've heard of that," she replied, thinking back to something the Doctor once told her. "Then, there weren't any actual documents?"

"No, but one phone call and Mary's life would be in danger."

"So, as long as he was alive she was in danger."

"Precisely."

"I'm sure I would've done the same," she said, surprising him, but before he could ask about it she tapped her earpiece. "Move in."

Then she started the car and drove around the corner and down to the warehouse. Parking outside behind the Torchwood SUVs. Both teams swarmed out of their vehicles, weapons drawn, and rushed inside. Rose opened her door and hurried inside with Sherlock following.

The team was rounding people up as he followed her down the hall. Her instructions were to send everyone on their way with the exception of Andrelli who would be taken into Torchwood where the Director was waiting to charge the man.

Rose ran into the large room where the fight had been taking place. One of the soldiers was inside the cage with the Sontaran who was very agitated.

"You swine," the Sontaran yelled. "We were about to get started. I haven't had a good fight since Friday."

Rose rolled her eyes, grinning. Leave it to a Sontaran to think this was nothing more than a bit of fun. She opened the door and stepped into the cage to diffuse the situation before the Sontaran decided to start in on the soldier.

"My apologies," she said, addressing the Sontaran. "But the bloke who runs these fights cheats."

"Cheats?" the Sontaran asked, eyeing her.

"He's been rigging these fights," it was a bit of truth with the lie she was about to tell him wrapped around it, but it was the only way to make him cooperate. "He planned on letting you win a few and then he'd tranq you before the last one."

"Tranq me?"

"Tranquilizer gun. That way you'd pass out and it would look like the guy won."

"Of all the cowardly, despicable, cheating…" A soldier passed through the room with Andrelli in cuffs. The Sontaran walked to the end of the cage, pointing at the man. "You sir are a disgrace to the entire human race and that's saying a lot. Coward!"

"He'll be punished."

"I should hope so."

"This is Frank," Rose said, introducing the soldier who gave her a quizzical look. "He'll give you a lift home."

"Fine," the Sontaran growled.

"I think there's shop on the way that sells ice cream cones," she said, knowing that most Sontarans had a bit of a sweet-tooth.

"I haven't just come off the cloning belt," the Sontaran insisted, but as soon as Frank joined him she heard him continue. "So, Frank?" the soldier nodded. "Do these cones of ice cream have sprinkles?"

"I think you can add them," the soldier replied shooting Rose a _thanks for that _look. She grinned.

She stepped out of the cage and found Sherlock watching Frank and the Sontaran walk out of the room. His face a mixture of confusion and surprise. She knew that look.

"Not what you expected?" she asked.

He'd seen Sontarans back at the Sontaran Section, but he hadn't really heard them talk and she knew he'd been watching her diffuse the situation.

"No, not at all," he replied.

"They're a bit like big kids."

"A war race of children, lovely."

She laughed, taking his arm.

"Crisis averted, everyone lived, bad guy's on his way to Torchwood. I don't know about you, but I could eat. Your choice."

"My choice? Why my choice?"

"Because," she said as they stepped out the door and began crossing the parking lot. "I couldn't have done this without you."

"I believe you're underestimating yourself."

"You put the disappearances together, you figured out Collins wasn't the ringleader, you stopped me from having him brought in right away, and you worked out which warehouse was going to be used." She squeezed in next to him as they walked and laid her head against his shoulder. "You're brilliant, more than brilliant."

He smiled as a feeling crept over him. He liked it when people commented on his brilliance, but for some reason her comments warmed him even more. Then she bounced up and kissed his cheek before releasing his arm to open the driver's door. He stood there for a moment, surprised by her actions.

"So," she said, as if nothing at all had transpired between them. "Where should be eat?"

"Oh. Eat. Um…" his mind was still stuck on the feel of her lips brushing his cheek, but he pulled enough grey cells together to remember that she was fond of chips. "Fish and chips?" he suggested as he walked around to the passenger side.

"You know I love you, yeah?" she beamed, popping into the car and closing the door.

He froze, holding the door open. _Love? _What? She didn't actually mean…she couldn't actually feel…why would she say that? And what the hell was he supposed to say to that?

"Are you coming or are you just going to stand there?" she asked and he could hear a bit of teasing in her voice.

"Yes. Right. Coming," he replied, climbing into the car and closing the door.

He glanced at her as she started the car. She seemed happy, smiling. He'd never been able to leave well enough alone and something like that, like what she said, well, he couldn't leave it.

"Why did you say that?" he asked.

"Say what?" she replied, as if she had no idea what he was talking about, but she must.

"That you…" His eyes shifted out the window. "Love me."

She laughed and he glanced at her. Was she laughing at him? Would she do that? But he knew the answer. No, Rose Tyler wouldn't laugh at anyone, not like that.

"It's a figure of speech."

"How is saying you love someone a figure of speech?" he asked, feeling a bit irritated.

Why was he irritated? He'd been surprised by her words and…

"I don't know. It's just something I say to my friends," she shrugged.

Friends. Right. Because that's what they were. Although none of his friends had said anything like that to him, but then Rose wasn't like his other friends. She was more open and she didn't filter through what she was going to say as most of his friends had a tendency to do so he wouldn't mistake what they meant. She spoke to him the same way she spoke to everyone else.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**

**Next chapter will include a trip to Collins' house to arrest him or assist his fall down a flight of stairs, or drop him in an experimental black hole or something else I haven't come up with yet. :)**


	15. Case Of The Eccentric Bookie - Afterward

Rose pulled up outside Collins' house and cut the engine. It was late, nearly ten, but the first thing she wanted to do after taking down Andrelli was pay a little visit to Collins. She'd spoken to her dad before the raid and laid everything out, which he wasn't happy about, especially keeping Collins' part in the whole thing a secret, but she explained that it was the only way to make sure Collins remained in the dark, which he understood, though he still wasn't happy about.

Pete wanted to send a team in right away to arrest Collins, but she talked him into letting her be the one to do it. Of course her dad didn't know what the tosser had done to her, didn't know her actual reason for wanting to take the bastard in.

Collins would be the only one home. Pete had made a few phone calls, staging a ploy that would keep Collins' mother busy for a few days. Nothing illegal, no arrests, just a sick relative who wasn't really sick, but Collins mother would be picked up before she reached the train station and held for a bit, her memory altered, not something Rose usually condoned, but sometimes it was necessary. She'd helped develop the technique, TARDIS technology that she learned after that whole trip to the universe created around Donna.

Sherlock watched her stare at the house. Collins' house. He'd spent part of the morning researching Andrew Collins, where he lived, where he worked before Torchwood, College, friends, family, everything he could learn about him. So, he knew exactly where they were and from the look Rose wore he knew exactly what she was thinking.

"Your father knows," Sherlock deduced, realizing that when she sent him off to gather the surveillance devices from the Tech Department she must have spoken to her father privately about the matter.

"I had to tell him before the raid so he wouldn't bring Collins in on it," she replied without taking her eyes from the house across the street.

"But he doesn't know everything."

"No," she replied, turning her gaze to him. "He doesn't need to know. He's the one who hired Collins." Her gaze shifted back to the house. "We need supporters. Torchwood needs them. The company might work outside the government, but it still needs support inside the government or the whole thing falls apart. Collins' family carries a lot of weight and the company needs that."

"You want to protect your father," he deduced.

That's why she didn't want Pete to know. She didn't want her father to blame himself for bringing someone like Collins into Torchwood. She caught his gaze.

"That and I'm afraid of what he might do if he finds out. Right now all he knows is that Collins was working with Andrelli. That he fed Andrelli information from Torchwood, which would be enough to charge him under Torchwood laws, but that would create a ripple effect, damaging Torchwood in the process because we'd lose his family's support, maybe go so far as to create opposition and that can't happen." She sighed and the weight of her sigh brought his hand to hers. She caught his gaze, giving him a half smile. "I'd like to toss him down the stairs or out a window, to be honest."

"But you won't do that."

He'd like to do the same or shoot him, knee cap, that would do. Before she could answer another car pulled up, parking in front of hers. A young bloke with a mess of blonde hair and dressed in black clothes stepped out. He caught Rose's smile as she opened her door and climbed out. Sherlock followed suit, wondering who this bloke was.

"Jake," she said, greeting him. "Thanks for coming on short notice."

Jake smiled.

"It was only my day off," the man teased and then laughed, pulling Rose into a hug. "You know I'd drop anything for you."

Sherlock eyed the man, trying to deduce who Jake was and exactly what he met by that.

"This is my friend, Sherlock," Rose introduced.

"Any friend of Rose's is a friend of mine," Jake said, offering his hand and a friendly smile.

"Jake's an old friend," she explained when the detective glanced at her as he shook the man's hand.

"Which roughly translated means I'm the guy she calls when she can't trust anyone else, usually in the middle of the night. Good job my fiancé understands or I'd be in the doghouse at least once a week," Jake said, making Sherlock smile, now knowing that Jack was a friend, not something more.

"It's always a pleasure to meet one of Rose's friends," the detective said, releasing Jake's hand.

"So, what is it this time," Jake asked, catching her gaze. "Crack in the universe? Reality bomb? Werewolf?"

_Werewolf? _Sherlock eyed the man. Had he actually said _werewolf_?

"Nothing that interesting, but I thought you might want to lend a hand since I know how much you like Collins," she replied, smiling.

Jake's expression darkened.

"What's he done this time?"

"Enough to get himself arrested."

Jake smiled.

"Been peeking at my Christmas list?" he teased.

"Of course," she replied. "What else would I do in my spare time?" She glanced at Sherlock, grinning and he couldn't help returning her smile. "So, you two around back. I'll go in the front and-"

"You're not going in there-" Sherlock began.

Rose's expression darkened as she eyed him. Who the hell did he think he was telling her what she could and couldn't do? He was acting just like that bloody alien and the last thing she needed was someone else making decisions for her.

"I'm going in there and there's nothing you can do-"

"You're not-" he cut in stepping closer to her.

That was it. It was bad enough she had to let Collins off the hook for everything he'd done she wasn't going to let Sherlock control her on top of it.

"Yes, I am," she yelled, reaching out to slap him, but he grabbed her wrist.

"Rose Tyler," he said, in that way that reminded her of another man, but also in a way that was distinctly unique as he pulled her closer and in the next moment she was trapped by the intensity of his gaze.

For a moment neither one of them spoke. Sherlock felt as if he were back on that ledge at that hospital with only two choices. Jump or step back. He gazed into her eyes, seeing all the layers that were her. So many things he didn't know. Not secrets, not really. She wasn't keeping things from him, but there was so much about her that he didn't know. Each time he learned some new part of her he was surprised…intrigued.

Jake cleared his throat, bringing Sherlock back to the situation at hand.

"If you'd let me finish," he continued. "What I was trying to say was that I don't think you should go inside on your own." He released her wrist and stepped back. "Collins might be an idiot, but he works for Torchwood and could have any number of weapons stashed inside, including the tranq guns that investigators are required to carry."

"Right," was the only word she could manage, rubbing her wrist. It wasn't sore, but she needed something to do after that…whatever that was. Had it been that warm outside? "Um…"

"So," Jake said, drawing her attention, but she chose to ignore the smirk he wore. "How about I go around back and you two go in the front. Here," he continued, handing over two earpieces, after noticing that neither one of them was wearing one. "If I don't hear from either of you I'm coming in. So, if you two start snogging, give us a heads up, would you?"

"What?" Rose asked in shock, eyeing her friend.

"Sorry?" was Sherlock's surprised reaction.

"We're just friends," she insisted.

"Sure you are," Jake said, hurrying off before Rose could reply.

She glanced at Sherlock and mustered up as much of a laugh as she could.

"He's joking," she said.

"Obviously," Sherlock replied.

"Come on then."

She walked across the street and up to the front door with the detective beside her. Sherlock pulled a set of tools from his pocket as she tried the door handle.

"It's locked. I have something in the car-" she began.

"No need," he replied and a moment later she realized what the tools were as he bent down and unlocked the door.

She grinned and he returned her smile, replacing the lock pick.

"Off the books."

"Off the books," he agreed.

They stepped inside pulling their guns. Sherlock followed her across the dark living room and down the hall. He didn't like the idea of letting Collins off for what the man had done to Rose. He wanted to shoot the bastard. He understood her reasoning, admired the fact that she could set aside her feelings for the greater good, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

Rose came to the first door in the hall. She motioned for Sherlock to take a position on the other side, which he did. Then she grasped the handle and opened it. The room was empty. It appeared to be his mother's bedroom.

The next door was open. The loo. Another open door on the other side of the hall. Guest room and they were at the end of the hall. They backtracked and started up the stairs. Rose led the way down the upstairs hall. She reached the first door, but before she could try the handle another door opened and Collins stepped into the hall. He took in the two of them and dashed down the hall.

"Stop," Rose shouted, giving chase and hearing Sherlock do the same. "Collins!"

She fired her weapon, meaning to tranq him, but he dashed through another door, slamming it shut. She reached it a moment later kicking it open. The sound of a gunshot. She felt something strike her chest and in the next moment she went down.

"Rose!" Sherlock yelled as she fell, but he focused on Collins and fired before the bastard could shoot off another shot.

The gun fell from Collins' hand as the man fell. It wasn't a tranq gun. Sherlock kicked it away from the man who was passing out then he hurried to over to Rose, bending down next to her. He grabbed her jacket and pulled it open, ignoring the sound of one of the button's flying across the room. He let out a relieved sigh at the sight of her vest. Torchwood issue, beyond bullet proof. The bullet was lodged in the vest.

"Feels like someone kicked me in the chest," she said, glancing at him as she sat up.

He smiled, he couldn't help it. He was just so glad she was all right. He pulled her into a hug before he knew what he was doing. Releasing another sigh into her hair.

"I thought he shot you," he said.

"Technically he did," she teased, making him laugh.

"Shut up," he joked, which made her laugh. "It's my job to point out technicalities."

"Don't make me laugh when my chest hurts," she said, as he pulled back and gazed into her eyes.

"I thought…" he trailed off, taking her cheek.

She smiled, reaching up to cover his hand, the one holding her cheek. He allowed her to take his hand and then helped her off the floor.

"Jeopardy friendly, but I always bounce back." He kept his gaze on her, sorting through the emotions that he felt when he watched Collin's bullet strike her. Shock, fear, grief, stronger than any he'd felt before and anger. That was still there. He glanced at Collins, lying on the floor, unconscious. "Better call my dad, let him know we have Collins."

"Wait," he said, turning back to her. He couldn't let Collins get away with what he'd done to her, not only the drugs and his intentions that night, but shooting her, trying to kill her. He couldn't allow that to pass. "I understand your desire to protect not only your father, but Torchwood as well. What if there was a way to do that, but also make sure that Collins got what he deserved?"

She caught his gaze, grinning.

"Let's do it," she said.

Ten minutes later everything was in place. Collins was still unconscious, but now he was gagged and tied to a chair that was sitting in the middle of his bedroom. Sherlock was waiting for Rose to return after talking to Jake and then retrieving something from her car that would counteract the tranquilizer.

Rose raced into the room, handing him a syringe. He took it, returning the smile she gave him. Then she took up a spot next to the door while he injected Collins and then stepped back, pocketing the empty syringe. He pulled out his mobile and waited. A few moments later Collins began to stir and he took that moment to place the call to Pete.

Rose watched Sherlock place the call to her dad, making sure to keep his focus off Collins who was beginning to wake.

"Director Tyler," Sherlock greeted, slipping into more of a formal speech pattern. "Collins is in custody." The man opened his eyes at the mention of his name, then noticed the state he was in and began struggling. "There were…unforeseeable circumstances." Collins looked up and caught sight of Rose. She smiled and waved at him. His brows drew together as he glared at her. "We didn't realize the lengths he would go to, to avoid arrest." Collins glanced at Sherlock quizzically. "No, he's still alive…at the moment." Sherlock glanced at Collins and smiled. "It appears he jumped out the window in an attempt to get away." Collins' eyes widened. "Got himself rather injured in the fall. Broken femur, collarbone, fractured two ribs," Sherlock glanced out the open window at the yard below, "make that three ribs and I suspect he may have a punctured lung." Sherlock leaned back into the room. Collins was now using every effort to get out of the chair and a moment later the chair went over, but Sherlock merely reached down and picked up Collins' discarded gun, pointing it at the man who stopped struggling. "Ambulance is on its way? I'll let Rose know." Sherlock glanced at her. "She's rather worried about him, but you know how she can be." Rose smiled and he returned her smile.

Then he hung up, pocketing his phone.

"Rose, if you wouldn't mind?" Sherlock asked, handing her the gun. She crossed the room and took it.

"Don't mind at all," she replied, grinning.

Sherlock reached down and helped Collins up, making no effort to be careful.

"Now, then," the detective said, eyeing Collins. "What are we going to do with you?"

"I thought we were going to drop him out the window," Rose said.

"That's right." He grinned at the man. "Almost slipped my mind." Collins tried to talk, but his words were muffled by the gag. "What's that? I'm sorry, can't understand you." He took the gag out of the man's mouth. "There now."

"You're both mental," Collins shouted.

"That's not very nice," Rose said, aiming the gun at him.

"No, wait! I'm sorry!" She stepped closer. "Please!"

"She's not the one you should worry about," Sherlock said, drawing Collins' attention. "Because, you see, I don't need a gun to kill you."

"Then why'd you use a gun to shoot that other bloke?" Rose asked.

Sherlock stood up and glanced at her.

"Killing someone without a weapon requires one of two things. Close proximity or time. Since I had an entire swat team with weapons drawn bearing down on me, not to mention the snipers and the military helicopter I had neither, but I did have a gun. Not the murder I would've planned."

"Murder?" Collins asked, his eyes widening in shock.

"Right," Rose said, smiling as Collins looked at her. "I forgot. You don't know. My partner here," she gestured at Sherlock, "Murdered someone…pretty high up from the sounds of it. Government." Collins' eyes widened. "Of course the whole thing was covered up, you know how powerful families protect their own." Collins turned his gaze on Sherlock as if he hadn't seen him before. "Working for Torchwood is his punishment."

"My brother was hoping to straighten me out, but then he always did overlook the most important aspect of my personality."

"What's that?" Collins asked.

Sherlock leaned close.

"That I'm a sociopath." Collins' eyes widened. "Now, we both know Torchwood won't actually charge you with anything, your family being who they are and all. So, here's what's going to happen. You're going to take an extended vacation, call it a permanent residence change to-"

"Norway," Rose supplied. Sherlock glanced at her. "I know some people there who can keep an eye on him."

"Norway," Sherlock agreed, catching Collins' eye. "You're never going to come back to London, you'll never contact Rose, in fact you'll forget everything you know about her, you'll never contact Torchwood or even speak about the company again."

"Or what?" Collins asked. "You'll drop me out the window."

"Oh, no. You're going out the window isn't negotiable. We've already agreed that's going to happen."

"What, but you can't-"

Rose cocked the gun, cutting Collins off.

"You appear to be under the impression that you have a say in the matter so let me make myself perfectly clear. My name is Sherlock Holmes. I'm not _a _Sherlock Holmes. I'm _the _Sherlock Holmes. There is nowhere you can hide. If you don't do exactly what I've told you I will find you and I'll kill you. Now," Sherlock said glancing at his watch. "Ambulance will be here in three minutes twenty-two seconds and you have a date with the window."

Jake stood outside waiting for Sherlock and Rose to bring Collins out. He wasn't sure what was taking them so long, but she told him they needed a few minutes to revive him. Seems he tried to run. At that moment a loud yell brought him to the right side of the house in time to watch Collins fall onto the rubbish bins. He ran over to the man with his weapon drawn, but the man appeared to be injured, pretty seriously from the look of it. Jake reached for his phone, but in the distance he could hear the faint sound of ambulance sirens.

"I've already called them," Rose called.

He glanced up and caught sight of her leaning out the window.

"When?" he called back, but she popped her head back inside without answering.

Collins moaned and Jake shook his head, realizing this was one of those times when knowing the entire story was more trouble than it was worth. He'd rather feign innocence then find out what the tosser could've done to possess Rose of all people to help him out the window because he knew the answer would probably make him want to shoot the idiot.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	16. Paperwork

The next morning Rose led Sherlock up the steps and through the front entrance of a large glass and steel office building.

"You didn't have to come," Rose said as they walked across Torchwood's lobby. "But I'm glad you did."

"From my experience thus far, accompanying you will be far more interesting than remaining at the flat," he replied.

"Is that your way of saying I'm trouble?"

She grinned, taking his hand and they walked over to the lift. He smiled in return.

"Comparing Rose Tyler to trouble is similar to comparing Mt. Vesuvius to a smoke bomb."

"Pot kettle, Sherlock Holmes," she replied with a grin, as he led her inside.

She pressed the button for the twelfth floor.

"I have no idea what you're referring to," he replied, smiling.

She took his arm and rested her cheek against his shoulder, the events of last night still fresh in her mind. They hadn't spoken about it in detail since her dad reamed them. She knew he didn't fully believe their story, but luckily Jake had kept him mouth shut. Not that he really knew anything, but he wasn't an idiot. He suspected, she knew that.

"I'm going to need chips after this," she said.

"If you wouldn't have taken the blame-" Sherlock began.

She glanced at him.

"It was worth it," she said. "Besides you had to be the one to rescue the situation or my dad wouldn't have gone along with it."

Sherlock smiled, resisting the urge to tuck the stray lock of hair that rested against her cheek behind her ear and a moment later she did it herself.

"It's a good job you're not in the criminal class," he said, keeping his gaze on her.

"What makes you say that?"

"You can be quite devious, Rose Tyler."

She grinned. Whenever he used her full name like that it always made her feel as if she wasn't alone.

"Is that a bad thing?" she asked, squeezing his arm.

"Under ordinary circumstances, yes."

"But since these circumstances aren't ordinary it's okay, yeah?"

"I don't believe anything about you could be considered ordinary," he replied, smiling. She returned his smile. "So, what does this punishment entail?"

"I have to go around to every department, check their work and make sure it's coming along."

"Coming along?"

"For instance," she said, pulling the paper from her pocket and unfolding it. "Tech Department's first. That scanner I used on Collins' phone is one of the devices they're working on. I have to make sure they're where they should be in development, on budget and all that, which means paperwork."

She rolled her eyes as the lift doors slid open and released his arm as they stepped out. Sherlock gazed around the room, which was abuzz with devices, people, and computers, everything busy, everyone moving and chatting.

A man in a lab coat walked up to them. Grey hair tied back in a ponytail, glasses, ready smile.

"Rose," the man said, pulling her into a hug.

"Mike," she greeted.

_Mike? This _was Mike. The man was at least thirty years her senior. Sherlock grinned.

"This is my friend, Sherlock Holmes," Rose introduced.

Mike's eyes widened for a moment and the detective realized her mistake.

"William, actually," Sherlock said, offering his hand, which the man took. "But everyone calls me Sherlock."

"Like the stories," Mike said, smiling. "Well it's a pleasure to meet a Holmes at any rate."

"The pleasure's entirely mine," Sherlock replied, referring to the pleasure of finding out Mike was much too old for Rose to be interested in, but choosing not to point that out as he returned the man's smile.

"So," Mike said, catching Rose's gaze. "What'd you do this time?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she insisted, but she was grinning.

"Last time the Director sent you round to check up on everyone you were found swimming in that fountain with your clothes-"

In the next moment Rose clamped her hand over Mike's mouth.

"You swore you'd never bring that up," she said.

"Your clothes were where, exactly?" Sherlock asked, intrigued by the story for a number of reasons.

"You heard nothing," she insisted. Then she glared at Mike. "You know that wasn't my fault. That had to do with the…" she glanced at Sherlock, best not even mention what it was…she turned back to Mike. "…thing that they were working on in that room with the…other things. Now, I'm going to take my hand away and we're going to go on as if you didn't mention it, yeah?"

He nodded and she released him.

"Sorry, Rose, I…" Mike trailed off as she held up a warning finger. "Right. Anyway the developments are this way."

Sherlock followed them, but his mind was still focused on that incident with the fountain and what might have transpired. Who else would know? Her mother? Probably, but if it was embarrassing enough for Rose to cut Mike off in such a manner asking her mother might not be the best idea. Her father? Same idea there.

All of that was pushed to the back of Sherlock's mind as they stepped into the room with the first device and Rose was greeted by another man. This one not thirty years her senior. He was late twenties to early thirties, wavy blonde hair, blue eyes, athletic build, roughly the same height as Sherlock.

"Rose," the man greeted, pulling her into a hug that lasted just a bit longer than it should as his hands laced at the back of her waist.

"Brad," she said in the same friendly voice she used to greet Mike.

Brad, finally, released her.

"So, when are you going to let me take you out for drinks?" Brad asked, making Sherlock's brows narrow.

The detective gazed over Brad, deducing everything he could about the man in a few seconds.

"Maybe someday," she replied, jokingly.

Sherlock stepped closer to her, reminding her of his presence.

"Brad," she said, resting her hand on the detective's arm. "This is my friend Sherlock."

The man gave Sherlock a once over and didn't seem to like what he saw, but he gave the detective a smile. Sherlock returned the same sort of smile as he offered his hand.

"How's the wife?" Sherlock asked as soon as the man took his hand.

Brad's eyes widened for a moment and then darted to Rose.

"Wife?" Brad asked, trying to play it off by laughing. "I'm not married."

"Yes, you are."

"Look, I don't know what you're trying to imply, but-"

"I'm not implying anything. Your fabric softener told me."

"Sorry?"

"Fabric softener is usually purchased by women."

"So, because I use fabric softener you assume I'm married?"

"I don't assume and it's not just the fabric softener. There's also the hint of perfume on your clothes and the tan line on your ring finger. You remove it when you come to work so none of the women you work with will know."

"Oh, my god, you really are Sherlock Holmes," Mike said, drawing his attention.

Sherlock merely smiled, but in the next moment Rose took his arm and led him out of the room.

"What're you doing?" she demanded.

"Making conversation," he replied.

"You know perfectly well that wasn't conversation that was…I don't even know what that was."

"He's married and he was blatantly hitting on you."

Her irritation vanished and she smiled. Wait. What?

"Look, I know we're friends and you were just trying to watch out for me, but next time tell me after we leave, yeah?"

"Why?"

"Saves them embarrassment and I've got to work with them. So, could you do that? For me?" she asked, giving him that pleading look again.

"Yes, of course. I…um…I'm sorry."

"It's all right and it's nice to know he's a tosser. Not that I would've gone out with him. I always felt there was something off and now I know why."

She gave him a smile as she squeezed his arm and then headed back into the room.

By the time they left Torchwood, which was nearly six in the evening, Sherlock had compiled a list of twelve men and three women who were interested in more than friendship with Rose. He didn't think she was interested in women, but he decided to make sure before he went over his list.

"Are you interested in women?" he asked as she climbed in the car and closed the door.

She looked at him and raised her brow.

"I'm sorry?" she asked.

"Sally's offer of clubbing wasn't platonic."

"Are you sure?"

He gave her a look…one that accompanied a sense of déjà vu because it reminded her so much of the Doctor's _you just dribbled on your chin _look.

"What?" Sherlock asked after a minute.

She shook her head, giving him a smile to mask her surprise.

"Nothing…just…hu. I never thought about Sally like that," she teased, glancing at Sherlock. He looked like she slapped him and she couldn't help laughing. "Something wrong with that?"

"No, of course not. It's fine. I mean, its fine," he stammered, glancing away.

"I prefer blokes though."

"Well, then," he said, returning his gaze to her and he seemed…relieved? Why would he be relieved? "Donald-"

"The one in the Communications Department?" she asked, starting the car.

"Yes, that one. He's dating two women, has control issues, and hates dogs."

"Okay…and why do I want to know that?"

"Well, you, told me to tell you if I found anything wrong with the men who were chatting you up."

"But Donald didn't chat me up."

"He wanted to."

She smiled.

"I'm not really interested in dating anyone right now, but I promise if I ever am I'll let you know and you can give me the run down on all the blokes who catch my eye, yeah?"

"You're not interested in seeing anyone?"

"Nope," she said, popping the 'p' in a way he hadn't heard her use before.

"Why?"

"It's complicated," she shrugged.

He gazed at her. She was hiding something. What could she be hiding? Not a lie. A secret? She was surrounded by far too many deductions for him to sort through them all. It was like back at John's wedding and being in a room full of people only Rose was the only person in the room. She wasn't interested in dating and whatever made her not interested was complicated. He decided to find out exactly what she was hiding.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	17. A Case Of Fairies Part 1

"Rose!" Sherlock called, followed by the sound of her bedroom door banging open.

"What?" she yelled, opening her eyes as she sat up quickly.

Something must have happened. Was it her mum? Tony? Her dad? She pulled the covers back, but in the next moment Sherlock grabbed her hand and pulled her from the bed.

"You have to get in the shower. Hurry. We have to go," he said, ushering her toward the bath.

"What's wrong? What happened?" she asked, adrenalin replacing the grogginess.

"We have a case."

She put her hands out, catching the doorframe as he tried to shove her into the loo. He ran into her, not expecting any resistance.

"Sherlock Holmes," she snapped, rounding on him. "Did you just pull me out of bed for a case?"

"Yes," he replied as if it were something she should already know.

"You barge in my room shouting my name telling me I have to hurry because we have to go. Do you have any idea what I thought?"

"Two missing children and a possible alien."

Rose's anger completely drained at the mention of missing kids.

"Sorry…what?" she asked.

"Two young children have gone missing in the past two days and there were reports of fairies, which I assume are aliens. You're father sent the text ten minutes ago. He's sending us to a town called Leadworth. It's a three hour drive and I assumed you'd want to leave as soon as possible."

She stared at him for a moment, her mind processing the information. Missing kids. Fairies…she'd never heard of aliens who looked like fairies, but Sherlock must be right. It had to be aliens. Two kids in two days.

"You make the coffee I'll take a shower and pack a bag," she said, turning around and heading into the loo.

"Right," he agreed, heading into the kitchen to make her coffee, his bag already packed.

An hour later Rose drove them out of London, having traded her car for her Torchwood issue SUV packed with medical supplies, a small stock of weapons some of which weren't tanq or stun related, just in case, a supply of emergency provisions, including food and water, again just in case, and camping gear. She made sure it was always stocked and took it whenever she had to leave the area. All those years traveling with the Doctor taught her that anything could happen and she was always prepared for the anything, well, as prepared as she could be.

She'd pretty much headed straight out the door with Sherlock, after her shower and packing a bag, then they drove directly to Torchwood to transfer to her SUV, but now that they were headed out of the city she wanted to know exactly what they were headed into.

"Want to bring me up to speed now?" she asked, glancing at the detective who had been steadily typing on his phone ever since Torchwood.

"Day before yesterday Brian Hicks, seven years old, vanished during recess, between ten and ten thirty in the morning. The police searched the area, but couldn't find any trace of him."

"Seven years old and he's been missing two days?" Rose asked, barely resisting the urge to stomp down on the gas to get them there that much faster. "His parents must be going out of their heads."

"Then yesterday Evie McDowell, six years old, vanished from her backyard between two and three in the afternoon. The police searched, but didn't turn up anything. Incompetent."

"Sorry?" she asked, not sure what he was referring to.

"The police. With a population of ten thousand one hundred forty-seven I doubt they have more than a handful of officers all of which are most likely incompetent idiots."

She laughed.

"That's not very fair, judging before you've met them."

"I find most people to be incompetent idiots."

She quirked her brow.

"Really?"

"There are of course a few exceptions," he said, giving her a smile.

She grinned.

"Good save. Okay, so where do the fairies come in?"

"The police did manage to round up a couple witnesses. A few, mostly children and one elderly woman described small fairy like creatures flying in front of the children, as if leading them somewhere. The others described strange floating lights."

"So, glowing fairies. I've never heard of anything like that."

"And I can't recall reading about them in Torchwood's files, which is why I've been going over the files again, but still nothing."

"So, it's something new, or, at least, something we haven't seen before, which is bad." She sighed. "They're taking kids and I have no idea what they're doing with them, if we've even got a chance to save them."

She felt Sherlock rest his hand on her shoulder and she glanced at him. He caught her gaze.

"We'll find them."

He wasn't telling her the kids would be all right, but he also wasn't telling her they wouldn't be. What he was saying was that they'd put an end to what was happening, make sure it didn't happen to anyone else. He was a genius, like the Doctor, but unlike the Time Lord, Sherlock hadn't kept things from her, hadn't lied to her. He didn't say everything would be all right, that it would work out. He wasn't a man running away from something, pretending everything was fine.

Nearly three hours later Rose parked in front of Leadworth's police station, which probably would've fit inside Torchwood's Tech Department with a bit of room to spare. _Handful of officers, _exactly as Sherlock described. She glanced at him.

"Psychic, yeah?" she asked, raising her brow.

"Town like this, population this size, it was obvious," he replied.

She caught his gaze.

"So far you haven't lied to me, Sherlock Holmes. Is this where it begins?" she asked, tossing his words back.

He sighed.

"Arial map," he grudgingly admitted.

She grinned and a moment later he returned her smile.

"Come on then," she said, opening the door and stepping out.

"Why are we talking to the police?" he asked.

They were there to find and stop an alien. It wasn't a police matter and with the level of clearance he and Rose had through Torchwood they didn't need to bother with the slow incompetence-ies of police departments.

"Three reasons," she said, taking his arm as they walked up to the door. "One, they called."

"The police called Torchwood?"

"Sort of."

He raised his brow.

"An officer Lawrence has a cousin who works in the Communications Department. Remember Nick?" Sherlock nodded, recalling the man, early twenties, glasses, tall, athletic, two cats, hated dancing, but went to the clubs often, womanizer. He was one of the twelve men who wanted to be more than friends with Rose, which, if Sherlock had anything to say about it, was never going to happen. "She phoned Nick about the case. She knows he works in Communications, but she thinks he builds devices for the government, which, in a way he does. Anyway she thought he might have some device or access to a device that would allow them to access a satellite that recorded the children being taken."

"Sorry…what?" Sherlock asked.

Rose laughed.

"Yeah, she's one of those conspiracy theorists. Thinks the government's got satellites trained on people every second of every day, recording footage."

Sherlock grinned.

"Sounds almost as crazy as those alien conspiracy theorists," he teased.

She slapped his arm.

"Watch it!" He laughed. "Two, Torchwood does try to play nice with the locals, especially when it involves an ongoing case. Better to have them with you than behind you. And three we need a guide. Someone who knows the area and the people. Running around blind gets you nowhere fast and with missing kids I don't want to waste time. People are more willing to talk to and help someone they know rather than someone they don't."

He started at her. He couldn't help it. Her ability to understand people, understand their motivations rivaled his own, but was on an entirely different level. She could see the way a community behaved the way he could see how a suspect behaved. She could see the quickest route to their goal the same way he pictured the quickest route through London.

"What?" she asked after a moment, having paused with her hand on the door.

"You…surprise me," he said.

"Hopefully it's a good surprise and not like a Sontaran popping out of a birthday cake," she teased.

He smiled.

"Definitely good."

She opened the door and they stepped inside and paused. The entire police station was empty. No one at their desks. Doors to the offices open. There was a reception desk, but that appeared to be empty too.

"This is bad," Rose said, wondering if the alien fairies had moved on from the children and decided to take everyone.

She glanced at Sherlock who was gazing around the office as if he might discern what happened by observing the room, which was likely and she really hoped he could. At that moment the door finished closing, a bell she hadn't seen overhead chimed and an officer stood up from behind the reception desk. He glanced from her to Sherlock as he stepped from behind the desk, walking toward them.

Sherlock gazed over the officer. Early twenties. New to the job, very new, probably hadn't been there more than three months. The man's uniform said that and his badge. The officer smiled, but not entirely friendly. The way the man held himself told Sherlock that he liked being in a position of power, liked looking down on other people, liked the feel of having power over other people.

Sherlock glanced at Rose who was offering a friendly smile and then the officer who raked his eyes over her in a way that made the detective want to punch him.

"Good afternoon. I'm Officer Lucas. What can I do for you miss…" the officer began.

"Tyler," Rose said, offering her hand, which the man was more than happy to take. "Rose Tyler and this is my partner, Sherlock. We're here from Torchwood…"

"Brilliant," Lucas smirked, dropping her hand. "We've got two missing kids and who does the government send? Barbie and…" Lucas gazed over Sherlock, "…Ken."

Sherlock glared at the man, resisting the urge to punch the sod. He could feel Rose's eyes on him as she rested her hand on his arm, but he pushed that aside eyeing the man.

"So, which is it?" he asked.

"Sorry?" Lucas inquired.

"I was just wondering whether you were an idiot or a moron. I'm torn between the two and I thought you might enlighten me."

"Sherlock," Rose warned.

He glanced at her, noting her disproving stare, but he merely smiled.

"We both know he's got to be one of them. I mean, anyone who would so blatantly insult two officers of the government, two officers who could, with one phone call, indefinitely tie up any and all promotions that officer might have received."

"What?" Lucas exclaimed as Sherlock's words sunk in. "I…um, I didn't mean…"

He glanced back at Rose and this time she was smiling. He returned her smile.

"So, what do you think, Rose? Idiot or moron?"

"Meh," she replied, shrugging. "I'm rather torn myself."

"Now then," Sherlock continued, catching Lucas' gaze. "Are you going to explain where the rest of the force is or do I need to make a call?"

"They're all out looking for the missing kids," a woman said, directly to Sherlock's left, startling him, which never happened. He looked at her. "Yeah, sorry about that, thick carpets," the woman apologized.

He glanced at Rose, noting the surprise she wore.

For the first time someone had snuck up on the detective and that just didn't happen. Sherlock turned and gazed over the woman. Early twenties, like Lucas, long red hair, but it was pinned up, Scottish accent, but she was local, worked at the police station, but not as an officer, filing clerk? Possibly. She was married, recently so, intelligent, she read a lot, books, mostly, she smiled easily so she was friendly, but she had a temper, not easily frightened, and there was something…something he couldn't quite place about her.

"Hello," Rose began, offering her hand.

"Rose Tyler, yeah?" the woman supplied, making Rose quirk her brow. "I was filing some paperwork, heard you from the other room, sound really caries in here when it's empty, which is why I came out here. No one should be left alone with that one."

"Excuse me?" Lucas snapped.

"Really? There's an excuse?" the woman turned her attention back to Rose. "I'm Amy by the way, Amy Pond."

"Look here, Amelia-" Lucas growled.

The woman rounded on Lucas, hands on hips, eyeing him as if she might slap him or punch him, Sherlock couldn't work out which one or maybe she hadn't worked it out yet.

"It's Amy, you tosser. Now why don't you go swan off back to your internet girlfriend before I decide to give your mum a ring and tell her what's hidden under your mattress."

Lucas' eyes widened, but he stood his ground.

"You've never even been in my room."

"When you were there, but you know what, you're right. I could be lying. Tell you want," Amy pulled out her mobile. "Let's find out."

"You don't even have her number," Lucas argued, but he looked worried.

"That's right, never called her before because my mum doesn't play bridge with her on Wednesdays you moron. Now then I just press the three," she glanced at Rose, grinning, "I just love speed dial, don't you just love speed dial?" She cleared her throat, lifting the phone to her ear and in the next moment Lucas ran off. Amy laughed, hanging up her phone. She glanced from Sherlock to Rose. "What an idiot. As if I'd have his mum on my speed dial. Pizza delivery, now that's another matter. I love pizza."

Rose laughed.

"You're completely mental," she said, grinning at Amy.

Amy grinned back. Sherlock glanced from one woman to the other, not at all liking the way they interacted. Rose was treating Amy as if she knew her, which she didn't, neither one of them did. They didn't know anything about her beyond his deductions and besides they weren't there to make friends. They were there to solve a case. Amy would sidetrack her…them and they didn't need that sort of distraction.

"Watch it. Officer of the law," Amy teased.

"Actually," Sherlock said, eyeing the woman. "You're a file clerk, not a police officer."

"What makes you say that?" the girl asked.

It was a challenge and one he couldn't pass up.

"You're not wearing a uniform, there are a number of paper cuts on your fingers, some old, some fresh, ink smudge on your right thumb, also on your neck, which you probably got when you rubbed your neck, something I assume you do when you're frustrated, which happens a lot because you don't like your job. You work as a file clerk, but you want to be an officer only there's something holding you back, something you don't like to talk about, but everyone knows." Amy's eyes widened, which confirmed his deduction. He felt Rose's hand tighten on his arm, but he pushed on. "And that's why they won't take you on the police force, but there are very few reason why the police wouldn't accept someone, especially someone of obvious intellect. You either have a criminal past or. Oh! Ah! You've been diagnosed with a mental disorder and that's-"

He was abruptly cut off when Amy slapped him, hard, hard enough to turn his head. His hand flew to his cheek as he glared at the woman who glared right back. Who the hell did she think she was?

"You slapped me!"

"Yep," Amy snapped. "Want me to do it again?"

"Why the hell would you slap me?" he demanded.

"Why the hell did you attack Amy like that?" Rose demanded.

He glanced at her and found her glaring at him. What? Why the hell was she upset with him? Amy attacked him.

"What? I didn't attack anyone!"

"If that's what you think then you're more of a moron than Lucas," Amy said.

That was it. He'd had enough of Amy Pond. He took a step towards her, but Rose interceded by stepping between them.

"Sherlock, Amy just…just stop," she insisted, glancing from one to the other, drawing their attention. She focused on the detective first. "What you did to Amy was wrong. You were purposely trying to find something wrong with her." He opened his mouth to argue, but she held up her hand. "Don't even try denying it. I've already told you, you're not the first genius I've met, but look," She caught his gaze, resting her hand on his chest. He glanced from her hand to her eyes. "You're better than this. I know you are." His anger seeped away at the look in her eyes. A look that told him she really did believe he was better. Then she turned her attention on Amy. "I'm sorry. What Sherlock did was wrong. Sometimes his mouth gets away from him, but I promise," at this she eyed the detective for a moment. "It won't happen again."

"Who does he think he is? Sherlock Holmes?" Amy asked with a slight grin.

"Yes," Sherlock replied, before Rose could stop him.

Amy raised her brow.

"What's that, some kind of code name?"

"No," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"It's William Sherlock Holmes, actually," Rose said, trying to work out what had gotten into Sherlock and why he was acting a bit like an arse.

"People call me Sherlock."

"You look more like a William," Amy commented.

"I do not-" Sherlock began.

"Anyway," Rose said, loudly, cutting him off. "We're here about the missing kids and I was wondering, since you work for the police-"

"Filing reports," Sherlock corrected.

Rose glanced at him.

"As I was saying…since you work for the police and you're a local if you'd mind working with us."

Sherlock's eyes shot to Rose. What? No! No, no! That wouldn't work that was the –

"Worst idea I've ever heard," he finished.

"Why?" Rose asked, eyeing him.

"Because she's…" He glanced at Amy, trying to find something that would stop this from happening. "She's busy, filing papers."

"I think they'll let me off to work with two government officers."

"She's married."

"So?" Rose asked, what the hell was going on?

"Rory's at work and even if he wasn't he knows better than to tell me what I can and can't do," Amy said.

"She's distracting."

"Sorry?" Rose asked.

"She'll distract you…us…from the case."

"Oh, my god," Amy said, grinning. "That's what it is?"

"What?" Sherlock asked, eyeing the girl and wondering what the hell she was going on about.

"You're jealous."

"What?" he exclaimed. "Jealous? I'm not-"

"Yes, you are. You so are! That's why you turned into a complete arse!"

"Sherlock?" Rose inquired.

He glanced at her, catching the questioning look in her eyes. He couldn't tell her, what would she say? What if it made things change between them? What if she asked him to leave?

"The woman's obviously delusional, which is exactly why she shouldn't work with us. You're excellent with people and I've gone over the aerial maps. We'll be much faster working alone."

"How far into the forest do you think an aerial map is going to get you?" Amy asked.

"She's right," Rose pointed out, which was true, but that didn't mean Sherlock had to like it. "And beside, I like her."

He rolled his eyes. Brilliant. He was stuck with her. Instead of him and Rose, it was him and Rose…and Amy, no, it was him…and Rose and Amy. The sooner they solved this case the sooner he could return to London with Rose and leave the memory of Amy Pond behind.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	18. A Case Of Fairies Part 2

Rose pulled out away from Leadworth's police station driving her SUV to their first destination. One Harriet Wheeler, eighty-two, the only adult witness to describe fairy-like creatures.

"This is so awesome," Amy exclaimed, bouncing a bit in the passenger seat. "These seats are so comfortable. Is this government issue? I mean, this comes with the job, yeah?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes from the backseat, folding his arms across his chest in annoyance.

"Technically we work for Torchwood, which isn't really part of the government, but yeah, standard issue. Although mine's a bit more plush, perks of being the Director's daughter," Rose said, and then laughed.

Amy joined her. Sherlock rolled his eyes again.

"We should be discussing the case," he interrupted.

"We've gone over the case. We won't have any more until we talk to the witnesses," Rose replied, glancing at him through the rearview mirror.

He sat forward.

"If I were sitting in the front I might be able to observe something useful."

"You're sitting in the back for two reason and you know what they are." He sat back, rolling his eyes. "Don't give me that," Rose continued. "Amy's our guest-"

"She's our associate, broadly speaking, not our guest," he corrected.

"And you were rude to her."

"I deduced her, there's a difference."

"Next time maybe you'll deduce more nicely."

He rolled his eyes and then caught her raised brow in the rearview mirror, making him decide to focus his attention out the window. Rose's entire demeanor had changed since they met Amy Pond. He needed to work this case out quickly so they could leave and she would return to normal.

The police scanner that was built into the SUV crackled to life.

"All units report to 3211 Aberdeen Drive. Possible child abduction," Lucas said, his voice filling the vehicle.

"That's only a few streets over," Amy said.

"Which way?" Rose asked.

Sherlock sat forward, his irritation with Amy and the situation set aside while the girl directed Rose to a cottage three streets away. She parked outside and he climbed out. It seemed they were the first ones to respond.

Rose hurried to the front door with Amy beside her and Sherlock following. She knocked on the door and only had to wait a moment before a distraught middle-aged man in a blue jumper and grey slacks answered. The man glanced between them before his eyes settled on the girl.

"Amy, did you come with the police? Where's Sergeant Powell?" the man asked.

"Mike, this is…" Amy began and then trailed off as if she wasn't entirely sure how to introduce them.

"DI Holmes," Sherlock introduced, extending his hand. The man took it with a confused look. "And DI Tyler." He indicated Rose. "We're down from London to work on the case."

"Scotland Yard?" Mike asked.

"Torchwood, actually," Rose explained.

"Torchwood?" Mike inquired.

"We deal with top priority cases only, very…important," Sherlock explained, stepped between the women and into the house, causing Mike to step aside. "Now," he eyed the man, "where exactly did the abduction take place?"

"Oh…um…" Mike stammered, as if he wasn't entirely sure what to make of the whole thing. "His room, it's this way…" The man indicated the hall. Sherlock started down it before Amy and Rose stepped inside.

_What the hell is he doing? _Rose wondered as she watched Sherlock walk down the hall. He liked solving cases, she knew that, but he seemed in a hurry with this one. She would've thought he was worried about the kids and, maybe, in a way he was, but this was different.

"Sorry about that," she apologized, giving Mike a wane smile as she stepped inside with Amy and waited for him to close the door before leading them into the boy's room.

Sherlock was examining a…well, tower was the best way to put it. There was child's table with a large plastic box on top, a chair on top of that, and a lunch box on top of that. It was stationed in the center of the room directly below a vent that was hanging open, two of the screws having been removed.

"How old is your son?" Sherlock asked, without looking at them.

"Six, he'll be seven next month," Mike said.

Six? Rose gazed from the tower to the vent. Tony was seven and she couldn't imagine him doing something like that. If the vent had been on the wall then possibly, if someone suggested it, but in the ceiling?

"Someone must have been in here with him," Amy suggested.

"No," Sherlock said. "The boy did this himself."

"He's only six. He couldn't have done this himself."

"If you have nothing to add except your inept theories, Mrs. Pond, it would be helpful if you refrained from speaking."

"I'll…um…I'll just check on my wife," Mike said, seeming to want to extract himself from the scene.

He walked out and down the hall. Rose crossed the room toward Sherlock, wondering if he needed another slap.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" she demanded.

He glanced at her.

"I'm simply trying to solve the case. That's why we're here, if you recall," he replied.

"By being a complete arse?"

"And making friends is going to solve the case faster?"

"Actually, I've always found that it helps. So, yes. Besides, she's right."

"Sorry?"

"My little brother Tony is seven and I couldn't imagine him doing anything like," she indicated the tower and the vent, "this."

"But he did," Sherlock insisted. "The boy-"

"Danny," Amy supplied. Sherlock and Rose glanced at her. "His name's Danny, not the boy."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"He pushed the table to the middle of the room, stacked everything on top, climbed up, and unscrewed the vent. Then he climbed out…" He glanced up at the ceiling and a moment later he dashed out the door and Rose was left chasing after him, giving her another sense of déjà vu because it felt so much like all those other times chasing after another man, one who could change his face and even though Sherlock was being a complete arse she couldn't help grinning as she glanced at Amy.

Sherlock dashed down the hall, out the door, and around the side of the cottage, stopping in front of an open vent in the side of the house. There was a small screwdriver on the ground near the vent. He bent down, examining the open vent.

"And this is where he climbed out," Sherlock finished. "But you're right," he reached inside the vent and retrieved another screwdriver, "he didn't do it alone." He glanced at Amy who had a very satisfied smile on her face. "He got out of the room alone, but he had help at this end." He stood up and examined the dirt near the side of the cottage. "Another child."

"What?" Rose and Amy asked.

"Footprints, leading away," he pointed them out. "Two individuals. Roughly the same height."

"Could be a midget," Amy suggested.

"No, it was two children."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Weight, walking gait, indicating two children, not a child and an adult. Both roughly the same age."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Rose said. "What would make them do that? And how would Danny have gotten the idea?"

Sherlock's eyes snapped to hers.

"Sorry?"

"He couldn't have worked it out on his own. I mean, maybe if the vent was in the wall, but even then I'd think someone would have to suggest he open it. Why else would he go to the trouble of finding a screwdriver?"

The vent was in the ceiling. The only way for the boy to reach the vent was to create a tower by stacking his furniture, furniture light enough for him to stack, which is what told Sherlock the boy was responsible for his own abduction, but there was the vent and the screwdriver. Not a toy, the boy would've had to go looking for it, search for it. Children were easily distracted, but yet this child, who wasn't a genius from the state of his drawings and handwriting skills apparent in the pictures taped to the walls of his room. This child had kept on task, building the tower, finding a screwdriver, then returned to his room, climbed the tower, unscrewed the vent, climbed into it then through the ducts until he reached the outside vent where another child had been waiting after opening that vent. That only left one conclusion. He turned around, cradled Rose's cheeks and kissed her forehead, which made her laugh.

"You're brilliant," he exclaimed.

"Just getting that now?" she teased, giving him a smile.

"No, not really," he replied, returning her smile.

"Are you going to share what you worked out or should I leave so you two can get a room?" Amy asked.

"I don't know how, but someone the children are being controlled," Sherlock said.

"What?" Rose exclaimed.

"Building a tower, retrieving a screwdriver, climbing through the vents and another child here," he indicated where the other child had stood, "helping out the other. Six, seven years old. Typically much too young for this sort of behavior. Windows in the room are locked, parents didn't see anyone come in, no sign of adult interference and you said yourself someone must have suggested the idea."

"How?" Amy asked.

"Telepath," Rose said. "Oh, my god you're brilliant!"

She pulled Sherlock into a hug.

"Seriously?" Amy exclaimed. "There's an inn down the way." She thumbed back the way they'd come. Rose released Sherlock and raced back toward the car. "It was a joke," Amy called after her.

"I've got something in the SUV that'll help," she called back. "I'll be right back."

She hurried to the vehicle, opened the back, and flipped a lever that rotated the floor revealing weapons, cartridges, syringes, and a few tech devices. She grabbed the telepathic field detector. Small, handheld, looked a bit like an iPod with a light at the end, only it wasn't a light, it was the scanner. She raced back a moment later.

"What's that?" Amy asked, glancing at the device.

"Telepathic Field Detector," she said, turning it on and began to scan the area.

"Telepathic what?"

"Field Detector," Sherlock supplied, as if the girl should've gotten it the first time.

The device emitted a beep and then another, almost reminiscent to a heartbeat. Rose glanced at the screen, looking at the readings.

"You're right," she said, glancing at Sherlock. "Someone was controlling the kids. A telepath and these readings are off the chart."

He glanced at the readings over her should, which, unfortunately didn't help as he had no idea what they meant. Amy joined them and didn't seem to understand them any better.

"Telepathic Field Detector?" the girl asked, laughing. "That sounds like something the Doctor would say."

Rose's entire body froze as everything vanished except for Amy and the words _the Doctor. _Her eyes snapped to the girl.

"Wh-what did you just say?" she asked.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	19. A Case Of Fairies Part 3

Sherlock watched every muscle in Rose's body tense at the mention of the name _the Doctor_. Her friend. One she'd left behind in her original universe. Amy knew him. How?

"Wh-what did you just say?" Rose asked.

He could hear the disbelief in her voice with an undercurrent of…anxiety? It was enough to motivate him to close the distance between them and do something, not even he expected. He reached out and took her hand.

She glanced up at him and, yes, it was there in her eyes as well. She turned her attention back to Amy who was glancing between the two of them as if she'd never seen them before.

"I…said it sounds like something my friend would say," Amy said, hesitantly.

"Your friend?" Rose asked. "The Doctor?"

Rose stared at the girl in shock. Amy knew the Doctor? How was that even possible? And what did that mean? Did that mean he was there? That he'd found a way back to Pete's World? Disbelief, hope, concern, anxiety all battled for control at the same time.

"Yeah. That's what he's called."

"_The _Doctor?" She watched the girl. "Travels in the TARDIS?"

Amy's eyes widened telling Rose it really was the Doctor. Somehow Amy knew him. The disbelief vanished. Now it was just the sliver of hope to see him again battling the concern that he'd want her to go with him after finding out about the MetaCrisis and the anxiety that seeing him would make her want to go, make her want to give up the life she worked so hard to create, the person she'd worked so hard to become.

"Wait. How do you know that? You can't know that," Amy insisted.

"A blue police box that's bigger on the inside and travels in space and time," Rose said.

_Time? _Sherlock glanced at her. Had she actually said space and _time_?

"You can't know that."

Rose grinned at the disbelieving look the girl wore.

"I traveled with him," she said.

"What? But you're…you're not even from our universe," Amy replied, shaking her head.

"Actually, I am. How do you know him?"

"Rory and I traveled with him."

Traveled, meaning past tense.

"Then he's not here?" she asked, feeling the sliver of hope die, but at the same time the concern and anxiety vanished.

"No, we were separated. Weeping Angels. Then there was this crack, which was weird because I thought he got rid of them, only this one was different and then we were here. Leadworth. It's kind of funny when you think about it in a really messed up sarcastic sort of way, since this is where it all started and this is where we end up. In Leadworth that is, not on in a parallel universe." Amy sighed. Rose could see the loss in the girl's eyes. Not as strong as the loss she felt when he left her, but still she reached out with her free hand and gave the girl's hand a squeeze. They shared a smile and then Amy seemed to brighten. "You don't know how nice it is to finally say all that."

"If you're not from here, Mrs. Pond, then how can your mother be here?" Sherlock asked, trying to derail this talk about the Doctor, which he didn't like at all, neither did he like the shared history that implied, which told him that even after they left Leadworth Amy Pond would still be a part of Rose's life and therefore a part of his life.

"Sorry?" Amy asked, glancing at him.

"You told Lucas that your mother plays bridge with his mother every Wednesday."

"Right." The girl grinned. "Yeah, that would be a parallel version of my mother. This world's Amy Pond ran off right after secondary, seems she was a bit of a trouble maker," the girl eyed Sherlock, "which, by the way, is why I'm not on the force, not because I've got some mental disorder. I've seen psychiatrists, but that's because I had an imaginary friend, who wasn't imaginary just late…twelve years late, but the Doctor's never been on time a day in his life. So," Amy said, catching Rose's gaze. "How did you wind up here?"

"Which time?" Rose asked, grinning. Amy raised her brow. "The time I was traveling with the Doctor and we fell through a crack, the time I almost fell into the Void, but was saved by a parallel version of my dad, or the time the Doctor dropped me off with a copy of himself?"

"The Doctor dropped you off with a copy of himself?" Amy asked, but before Rose could respond Mike joined them.

"Have you found anything?" the man asked.

The man's presence reminded Rose why they were there and she mentally kicked herself for getting sidetracked. She walked over to the distraught man.

"I know you're worried, but we're doing everything we can. I need you to look after your wife. If we find anything you'll be the first to know," she said, giving his hand a squeeze.

He nodded.

"Thank you," he replied before walked back around the house.

"So," Amy asked, after he left. "Anymore of those gizmos?"

"Of course," Rose replied with a grin.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"You said the readings on the Telepathic Field Detector were off the chart. What exactly does that mean?" the detective asked, bringing them back to the task at hand.

"There are different levels of telepathy. Some telepaths can only communicate feelings, some images, mostly only with other telepaths, but there are a few who can communicate thoughts, feelings, images, even memories with anyone, telepath or otherwise," she explained.

"That's how they control the children," Sherlock deduced.

"So, the fairies are aliens," Amy said. "I've never heard of fairy aliens."

"Neither have I," Rose said. "Which means we have no idea what they intend to do with the kids, but I can set this to detect telepathic fields with similar or higher readings…" She brought up a touch screen and typed a few buttons. "…and now we have a radar of sorts." She pulled out the keys to the SUV and tossed them to Sherlock. "You drive I'll navigate from the back."

She turned around and walked back to the SUV with Amy and Sherlock following.

"The back?" Sherlock asked, not at all liking where this was headed.

"What do I do?" Amy asked.

They reached the vehicle and Rose led them to the back then opened the door, and hit the button to rotate the floor revealing all the weapons.

"You," she said, reaching down and picking up one of the long distance tranq rifles and a cartridge. "Shoot anything that tries to attack us."

"You're giving her a weapon?" Sherlock exclaimed.

That was the most ludicrous thing he'd ever heard.

Amy took the gun, eyed him, and smiled.

"Got a problem with that?" the girl asked.

"Twenty-seven actually."

Rose quirked her brow and grinned.

"Twenty-seven?" Amy asked.

"We don't know you, you've admitted to seeing a psychiatrist, you've admitted to having an imaginary friend, you work as a file clerk, you've demonstrated no knowledge of weapon use-"

Amy loaded the rifle and pointed it at him.

"Would you like a demonstration? Because that could be arranged."

Sherlock glared at her.

"This is precisely what I was referring to."

"Amy," Rose said, putting her hand on the gun and lowering it, trying not to laugh. "You can't shoot him."

"Why not?" Amy asked, seeming let down.

"See?" Sherlock snapped.

Amy rolled her eyes and scoffed.

"Oh, it's just a tanq gun you big baby."

Sherlock balled his hands into fists, glaring daggers at the girl.

"I am not a-" he shouted.

"Enough," Rose shouted even louder.

"We have kids to find and an alien to capture. So, Sherlock, drive. Amy, defend and don't shoot Sherlock. NOW," she yelled when they continued to stand there.

Sherlock climbed in the driver's seat, Amy in the passengers, and Rose in the back. Then the detective pulled out and headed down the road as she navigated.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	20. A Case Of Fairies Part 4

Sherlock parked at the edge of the forest, opposite from the side the police were searching. He glanced at Mrs. Pond. If they wrapped this case up in the next five minutes it wouldn't be soon enough for him. He'd be glad when he and Rose were headed back to London, leaving Amy far behind.

"You said you know the forest, yeah?" Rose asked, glancing at Amy.

"Yeah…well…" the girl trailed off.

His eyes narrowed, catching the way she shifted uncomfortably.

"You lied," Sherlock surmised.

"No. Not really. I know the forest…the one outside _my_ Leadworth, but this-"

"Isn't your Leadworth, yeah?" Rose finished.

"Brilliant!" he exclaimed.

"Look," Amy began, glaring at him.

Rose needed to diffuse the situation before it got out of hand. She needed her _team _to focus on the situation, not argue. She took Sherlock's hand and caught his gaze, giving him a smile.

"She just wants to help." She noted the way his eyes softened. "It's hard, living a normal life after…everything. You can understand that, yeah? Your life hasn't exactly been ordinary."

"I…" he cleared his throat, his voice having come out low. "I suppose."

She grinned and he returned her smile. Amy cleared her throat.

"If you two are done with the flirting we have kids to find," the girl said.

He rolled his eyes.

Rose retrieved two tranq guns from the back and handed one to him. Not rifles like Amy's. Handguns. Lighter and easier to handle. Then she led them into the forest using the device she turned into a radar for psychic energy.

* * *

"You know," Amy whispered, bending down next to Rose as they walked. "If you'd just kiss him he'd probably stop that whole jealousy act."

She raised her brow, taken back by the girl's words.

"I'm sorry?" she asked.

"Awww, come on. It's as clear as day."

Rose glanced back at Sherlock who appeared to be watching them, but he was too far back to hear their whispering voices. At least, she hoped so.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she insisted.

"Seriously?" Amy sighed. "You both like each other."

"We're friends."

Amy laughed, drawing Sherlock's attention. He wasn't sure what they were talking about, but he could tell from Rose's posture she wasn't comfortable with whatever the girl was saying.

"Could've fooled me."

"Amy," Rose snapped, but at that moment the psychic field detector beeped, indicating they were close. She paused, reaching into her coat pocket and pulled out three small devices that looked like earpieces. "These will keep the fairies from controlling our minds." She handed one to Amy and the other to Sherlock. Then demonstrated one in her ear. "Only shoot if they try to attack, let me try reasoning with them first."

"Do you think that's possible?" Sherlock asked, disbelievingly.

The creatures had made off with three children and they still didn't know why or if the children were still alive. She would be putting herself into a very dangerous situation and he didn't like that idea in the least.

"I don't know, but I have to try. They might not understand what they did was wrong."

"Give them a chance to change their minds," Amy said.

"Exactly," she agreed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. In his world if a criminal broke the law they didn't get a second chance. They were captured and punished, but then this wasn't his world and, even though he hadn't known her that long, he trusted Rose.

"All right," he replied, earning a grin from her that he returned.

"See?" Amy said, catching Rose's gaze, which seemed to make her uncomfortable.

They advanced into a small clearing. Sherlock assessed the situation. There was a boy lying on the ground. His coloring was off, he was suffering from hypothermia. Three children were dancing around, almost as if playing a game of Ring Around the Rosie as small fairy-like creatures flew around them. Four children. Four?

He heard Rose gasp as she caught sight of the boy lying on the ground, but Sherlock grabbed her arm before she could run across the clearing toward him. He locked gazes with her, telling her with his eyes to wait. She seemed to get the message, relaxing in his grip, but she wasn't happy.

He turned back to the children who had stopped. Two collapsed to a sitting position. The girl's coloring wasn't as bad as the boy lying down, but it was close. The other boy seemed all right, but the third. There was something about his eyes…they were green, but not typical eye color green, electrifying, brighter than they ought to be.

"You said, aliens with this ability can control people's thoughts," he said.

"Yeah," Rose verified.

"Can they create delusions?"

"Delusions?" She glanced at the fairies. "You mean like holograms. Oh! Yes, yes they could."

"There are four children," he said, glancing at the kids.

Rose followed his gaze.

"Wait," Amy said. "The boy? You think it's the boy?"

"Oh, oh god," Rose exclaimed, her entire demeanor changing. She took a step, but he still held her arm. She caught his gaze. "It's all right."

He knew exactly what she was planning. She didn't see the boy as a threat, she only saw a boy.

"He might be a child, but he's dangerous," he insisted.

"He's scared."

Yes. He knew about fear. What it could do.

"And that can make people dangerous."

She covered his hand with hers.

"He's afraid and alone. I have to help him if I can."

He knew she wasn't going to let this go. This was who she was. Caring, compassionate, kind. The woman who ran toward a noise because she thought someone might be hurt. He sighed, releasing her, but he wasn't happy about it.

She picked up her gun, showing the boy and then dropped it, lifting her hands to show that she meant him no harm. Sherlock watched her make her way toward the boy, slowly.

"Hi there," she said in a soft voice, almost as a mother might speak to their child. The boy focused his startling green eyes on her. "I'm Rose. Are you lost?"

In the next moment the boy bolted and Rose right after him. _Bloody hell! _

"Amy call for an ambulance, take care of the children," he said and raced after Rose before the girl could protest.

He dodged trees and jumped brush as he tried to catch up with her. His chest tightened in panic, panic that he was unable to push aside. Out of it and his inability to control it anger surfaced. This sort of thing never happened with John. His friend never took off like that and as soon as this case was solved he'd be having a long talk with her about that very thing. She left her weapon back in that clearing and took off after the boy without a second thought. He cursed under his breath.

His long legs easily caught up with her. Panic and anger merging as he grabbed her arm and yanked her to a stop.

"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded, glaring at him as he held her in place.

"My thoughts precisely," he snapped.

"I have to help him."

She drove him mad. She wasn't thinking about the possible danger. He wanted to drag her back to the SUV and lock her inside to keep her safe from herself.

"You're being an idiot."

Her eyes narrowed to slits.

"What the hell did you just call me?"

"You're running into a situation without assessing the danger, alone and completely unarmed," he yelled, trying to make her understand.

"This isn't my first time. I know what I'm doing," she shouted back.

Who the hell did he think he was? She'd been chasing down aliens for years. The boy wasn't dangerous. He was alone. She could see that and she had to help him. If Sherlock couldn't accept that's who she was then she didn't see how they could be friends. Her friends trusted her.

She reached out to slap him, but he grabbed her hand as if he caught the movement through his peripheral vision. She tried to pull away, but he pulled her close to keep her in place. Part of her wanted to scratch his eyes out, but another part of her…she pushed those thoughts aside. He was being a prick.

"Sure about that are you?" he asked, his voice coming out low as his body reacted to their close proximity.

"Yes," she insisted, or tried to, but the sound of his voice…the way it changed ebbed her anger. God she hated him.

"How did he get here?"

"What?" she asked, confused.

"He's alien, meaning not of this Earth, so how did he get here?"

"I…" She tried to clear her mind that had gone a bit fuzzy from their closeness and the sound of his low voice and the way his eyes held her. "I don't know."

"He appears to be the same age as the children he coaxed away from their homes. Do you think he came here on his own?"

Damn him! He was right, of course. The boy must have come with someone. He seemed to be on his own now, but that meant there were others and they might not be friendly.

"No," she admitted, hating to admit that he might have a point about her running off on her own. "But I still have to help him."

"I agree," he said, surprising her. "But not on your own. You're not alone, Rose…you don't have to be."

She could sense some underlying meaning in his words, but before she could reply a voice drew her attention.

"Seriously?" Amy asked. "You two stop in the middle of a chase for a snog?"

"Amelia," Sherlock replied disdainfully. "So glad you could join us."

He released Rose and she stepped back, glancing at the girl.

"Oh, I'm sure," the girl said sarcastically. "So, which way?"

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


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